The Carnelian Conspiracy
by Spellthief
Summary: PARIS, 1899. At the height of French Imperialism, a golden age of peace and prosperity has led to a flourishing of art and technology. But beneath the beautiful facade of the Belle Époque, the world is brimming with tension, as Adrien Agreste-a promising young detective-finds himself investigating his most puzzling case yet: that of the mysterious thief known only as Ladybug...
1. The Curious Case of the Curator

**A/N:** Hey everyone! I know I haven't posted a lot lately, but I actually have been writing, I promise. This is my piece for the ML Big Bang, originally posted on AO3, with accompanying artwork done by the fabulous ladydelahautematigny on tumblr. You can view it under the tag "mbb2k17" on her blog.

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The crime scene itself was rather ordinary, perhaps even disappointingly so, for after listening to Alya's giddy chattering about the case for a quarter of an hour beforehand, Adrien had been expecting something quite different. But there were no cryptic messages here, nor mysterious unidentified artifacts, nor anything even faintly risqué to be seen. There was only poor M. Kubdel, slumped over dead at his desk, and other than that not a single paper out of place.

Alya, naturally, had arrived at the museum well before Adrien, and had somehow managed to bully the officers on duty into letting her onto the scene. The two policemen were now standing guard at the doorway and looking thoroughly brow-beaten, as indeed most people did after confrontations with Alya. When Adrien had approached the scene, they both sighed heavily and grumbled amongst themselves, but neither made any effort to stop him from entering Kubdel's office. Adrien, who was nothing if not unfailingly polite, tipped his hat at the pair as he passed by and offered them a sympathetic smile. He had been on the receiving end of Alya's bombastic wit before, and the sympathy was genuine.

Alya herself was wandering slowly about the office, shuffling lazily through Kubdel's many assorted books and documents, occasionally pausing to read a page or hold a sheet up near the light, as though to check for a secret message penned in invisible ink. When she saw Adrien, her face brightened considerably, and she waved him over to her side.

"Alya," began Adrien cautiously, "what on Earth are we doing here?"

"Why, _investigating_ , of course!" said Alya, as though it were perfectly obvious.

Adrien took another glance around the room. It was still a very ordinary-looking office. Along the walls were several oaken bookcases, with their shelves sagging under the weight of double-stacked leather tomes. M. Kubdel's desk near the center of the room was an old, battered thing, and covered with carefully piled documents and paperweights. In one corner was a stack of crates, no doubt containing artifacts from the museum, all of them undisturbed and labeled carefully in a neat hand.

His eyes settled once more on the dead Egyptologist, and he sighed heavily.

"I spoke with Nino before I came over," said Adrien. He turned his attention back to Alya. "He says that it's likely natural causes. No evidence of foul play."

Alya scowled at the mention of Nino. She and Nino had been together for several years, and though they were not wed, except perhaps in the commonest sense, Adrien had rather begun to think of them as M. and Mme Césaire. They could certainly bicker like an old married couple, in any case, and nothing could start them arguing quite so fast as a disagreement about work.

"Kubdel's daughter doesn't think that," Alya eventually said, without mentioning Nino. Very casually, she began thoughtfully rummaging through the clutter on Kubdel's desk, careful not to disturb the body. After she had exhausted her search on the top of his desk, she began to even more carefully check the drawers.

"His daughter is upset," countered Adrien, "and understandably so. But there's no evidence of foul play, Alya, and _what_ in God's name are you doing?"

She had carefully peeled back one of Kubdel's eyelids, and was examining his revealed eyeball quite intently.

"I'm checking for signs that he's been poisoned," Alya explained patiently. She was not at all perturbed by Adrien's clear disapproval.

"Isn't that best left to the medical examiner?" he asked.

"Well," said Alya, releasing her hold on Kubdel's eyelid and straightening slowly, "I might feel more comfortable leaving it to the medical examiner if the police hadn't already decided that they weren't going to bother investigating!"

Adrien huffed at that, yet he could not deny Alya's point. Alya, sensing that Adrien was conceding defeat, sounded much more cheerful when she asked, "So, what do you think? The mysterious Ladybug strikes again?"

"The Ladybug?" Adrien asked.

Alya cocked one brow at him. She did not answer him right away, instead turning back towards Kubdel's desk. She slowly lifted a half-full teacup from M. Kubdel's desk, brought it up to her face as though she was considering taking a sip, and sniffed at its contents. She contemplated the scent thoughtfully for a moment, before setting the cup back down again. Only then did she finally respond to Adrien.

"You haven't been reading my articles," she said.

That was true. Between his work and preparations for the upcoming Christmas holiday, Adrien had been left with scarcely any free time, and lately he had allowed more issues of _La Fronde_ to end up piled on his desk than he ever actually read. Adrien ducked his head sheepishly, which only prompted an amused smile from Alya.

"I'm sorry, Alya," Adrien apologized sincerely. "I've been busy lately, but I promise I'll read them soon."

Alya, far from being angry, sighed and shook her head. "Tsk," she scolded lightly. "You work too hard, Adrien! You should take fewer cases. It's not as if you need the money anyway."

Adrien smiled ruefully. "You know how it is, Alya. I can never turn down people who need my help."

"Yes," Alya agreed dryly, "nor can you turn down people who _don't_ need your help."

It was true, much as Adrien was loathe to admit it. Alya kept wandering around the room, still searching carefully as though she expected to find a smoking gun hidden away in some secret compartment, and Adrien fell into step beside her.

"Well?" he inquired. "Who is this mysterious Ladybug, and why do you think he had anything to do with this?"

" _She_ ," Alya corrected smugly, "is a thief."

Adrien took another glance around the office, and its thoroughly undisturbed contents. "But nothing's been stolen," he pointed out.

"That's what you think," Alya countered. She smiled at him, a look so cat-like that Adrien half expected her to sprout whiskers. "The Ladybug is a thief, but when she steals, she takes only one item, and never the most valuable item in the room. In its place, she leaves _this_ behind."

Alya produced from one pocket a thick black sheet, about the size of a playing card, with a stylized emblem of a ladybug painted on it in bright red ink. She handed the card over to Adrien, who studied it carefully.

"And you found this here, in M. Kubdel's office?" Adrien asked, arching one brow.

"Well... no," Alya admitted. "But, according to his daughter, Kubdel kept his pocketwatch with him absolutely everywhere—and see, it's missing from his body!"

Adrien looked curiously over at the body. It was indeed true, there was no sign of watch or chain on the man.

"It still seems a bit premature to attribute this alleged crime to your Ladybug," Adrien pointed out.

Alya pouted at him and folded her arms over her chest. "I forgot what a dreadful spoilsport you could be," she huffed.

"Alya," said Adrien plaintively, "there's no sign of foul play. He has a flushed face, mottled fingertips, protruding arteries—all the classic signs of apoplexy. He was getting on in his years, and it seems that it was just his time. His watch will no doubt turn up sooner or later."

"You're never any fun," Alya protested, but she seemed to accept his explanation, for she sighed heavily and headed for the door. Adrien followed after her.

"Thank you, officers!" Alya said cheerfully to the policemen as they passed by. The policemen did not look very happy to be thanked, and only watched in stony silence as Adrien and Alya exited Kubdel's office.

"News must be slow, if this is the kind of thing you've resorted to chasing after," Adrien remarked.

"You wouldn't know, since you haven't been reading my articles!" Alya teased. "But yes, that was something of a disappointment."

They shuffled together to the exit of the building. It was quite chilly outside, though there was no snow, and Alya pulled her coat a little more tightly around herself as they stepped out. The two fell naturally into pace alongside one another in a pleasant camaraderie.

"I don't know," said Adrien. "I generally find it preferable when deaths are _not_ murders."

"Well, yes," Alya agreed, "but it's not my job to report on ordinary things! I cover sordid crimes and corruption and cover-ups."

"All very important feminist issues, I'm sure," Adrien remarked dryly.

"Crime is the _most_ feminist issue," retorted Alya, "for no one is more victimized by it than women are." She looked pointedly at Adrien, who raised his hands up in a gesture of defeat. Satisfied with this reaction, she then added, "Anyway, I'm off to that new train station they're building along the river."

Adrien grinned. "Reporting on the Expo, Alya? How mundane! Isn't there some scandal out there that needs your attention?"

Alya smiled coyly at him. "A change of scenery can be nice, every once in a while," she said casually. "One can't cover conspiracies and murders all the time, you know! And besides, I've heard a rumor that some of the tradesmen are actually running a vast smuggling ring."

Adrien laughed out loud at that. "I should have known," he said.

They parted ways at the corner of Quai Voltaire and Rue du Bac, with Alya headed up along the river and Adrien west to his father's house.

Though he had been living separately from his father for several years now, he still made an effort to visit regularly, and they had established a custom of meeting for dinner every Sunday. Though his father was rarely affectionate, he placed a great deal of value on his family, as did Adrien—even if Adrien could not help occasionally chafing against his father's expectations.

Once he had crossed the river, it was only a short walk to his father's home, over in the neighborhood of Les Invalides. There, nestled in amongst the stately mansions of the old aristocracy, was the ancestral Agreste house, an aged building that had been designed in the classical style. Coming up upon the building, Adrien was struck by the thought that it looked uncomfortably grand. Though he had lived there his entire childhood, it had never felt very welcoming. The building was a relic of a bygone era, and something about it had always felt dead and cold, almost as though it were a living history museum.

While reminiscing on these thoughts, Adrien made his way up to the front entrance. His father's housekeeper, Nathalie, met him at the door. She was a cool, serious woman who rarely smiled. She greeted him with a stiff, "Good evening, Adrien," and the slightest nod of her head.

"Evening, Nathalie," said Adrien. "Are you well?"

"Perfectly," she said crisply. She moved as if to leave, but hesitated a moment. "I see you're wearing the ring your father gave you," she said.

Adrien glanced down at his hand. He was indeed wearing the silver ring that his father had gifted him for his birthday. It was a rather simple band, devoid of ornamentation, but he appreciated it nonetheless, as he did all gifts from his father. Although, admittedly, he would have preferred it if the gift had come directly from his father instead of being passed to him through the household staff.

"I am," said Adrien. He thought he detected something unusual in Nathalie's demeanor and asked, "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No, of course not," said Nathalie. Then she did leave, returning to her other household duties without so much as a goodbye. Adrien, who was rather used to this kind of behavior, did not take Nathalie's coldness personally. It was simply her nature.

Adrien's father, likewise, could be a very cold man. When Adrien entered the dining room, he greeted his father politely, and his father greeted him back, but after saying their hellos they quickly lapsed into silence. Although Adrien cared deeply about his father, they had little in common, and conversations between them were always sparse.

Dinner was served, and Adrien had made his way through most of the meal before his father said anything of any consequence.

"Adrien, I can't help but notice," he said, "that there is blood on your sleeve."

Adrien glanced down at his sleeve and, indeed, there was a small, brownish smear of blood marring his cuff.

"Ah," said Adrien awkwardly. The stain was a leftover memento from an overly exciting forgery case that morning. "I was working a case earlier."

"Working, on a Sunday?"

"Crime often does not observe the Sabbath," Adrien pointed out mildly.

"I do hope you are unharmed," the elder M. Agreste said. He even paused long enough in eating his roast chicken to look his son over. "I worry about this _career_ of yours. You're always off gallivanting with thieves and prostitutes and feminists."

"The feminists are actually quite nice," Adrien offered hesitantly, but his father only scowled.

"I would prefer it if you settled into something a little more... respectable," his father said. Adrien steeled himself for an argument, afraid that this was the start of another row, but his father surprised him. "That being said, I have heard that you truly are an excellent detective."

"Have you?" Adrien asked sincerely.

"Perhaps you could help me with something," his father continued, "for the police have been of little assistance on this matter."

"Of course, father," said Adrien. "What do you need?"

"A few weeks ago one of the kitchen girls absconded with some of your mother's old jewelry," his father said. "It's not worth anything, really, but it has sentimental value. The girl's name is Marie Dupain, but the police have not been able to find her."

"I'll see what I can do," Adrien said.

They finished the rest of their meal with hardly any more conversation and, after a feeble attempt at playing chess with his father, Adrien departed for his own home.

Adrien rented a small living space in Les Halles, a modest quarters in an area mostly inhabited by middle-class shopkeepers and government clerks. It was quite unlike the grandiosity of his father's home in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, but the simplicity rather suited him. There he had just a few small rooms and lived entirely on his own, without the constant hovering presence of his father's household staff.

He often met with clients here in his own home, but on this evening he had no meetings scheduled, and so he was quite surprised to find a young woman loitering in his doorway with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was quite small and brown-skinned, and her eyes looked like they were red with crying. At the sight of him, she leapt up to her feet, and snarled ferociously at him, "Are you the detective?"

"I am," Adrien answered nervously. He was a little afraid that the woman would strike him, but she made no motion to attack.

"That journalist woman told me about you," said she, "and I need your help."

Adrien walked cautiously past the young woman and to his front door, which he unlocked and held open for her. She swept inside, collapsing immediately into the nearest armchair. "It's my father, you see," she explained with a tearful warble in her tone. "You were there earlier, at the museum, weren't you?"

It was then that Adrien realized that the young woman before him must be M. Kubdel's daughter, the one whom Alya had been speaking of earlier.

"I was," Adrien confirmed cautiously, "but I'm afraid there was nothing suspicious about your father's death."

"There _was_ , though!" Mlle Kubdel protested vehemently. "His pocketwatch is missing! The police won't listen to me, but he carried it with him _everywhere!_ It's an old family heirloom and it was very dear to him, and I cannot think that it is a coincidence that it is gone now."

The woman seemed on the verge of tears again, and Adrien felt a swell of sympathy for her, even if he was not swayed by her argument. "Perhaps one of the officers took it," Adrien suggested. "I can ask around and see if anything turns up."

If anything, Adrien's sympathy seemed to anger Mlle Kubdel further. "Why would they take only his pocketwatch, then, and not any of the dozens of more valuable artifacts left behind in his office? And why would a perfectly healthy man drop dead for no reason?"

"Apoplexy can often strike without warning."

"And can you tell the difference between apoplexy and poisoning?" Mlle Kubdel spat back.

"Mlle Kubdel—"

" _Please_ ," she begged him. "We don't have much, but my brother and I will scrape together every cent we have if you help us. I _know_ that there's something strange going on here, if you would only just look!"

Adrien sighed heavily and reached for a pad of paper. "Very well," he said, persuaded more by her emotionality than by her offer of money. "I will take another look at your father's case—but I cannot promise that I will find anything out of the ordinary."

Despite Adrien's cautious warning, Mlle Kubdel was so delighted that she leapt to her feet. She looked for a moment as though she might leap over his desk to embrace him.

"Oh, _thank you_ ," she cried out. "Thank you, thank you!"

He then spent a quarter of an hour asking about her father, whether he had any enemies and what his pocketwatch looked like. Afterwards, once Mlle Kubdel had departed and Adrien was left alone with his thoughts and a disorganized sheet of hastily jotted notes, he found himself possessed with a sudden restlessness. Although there was no need to get started on the case straightaway and the hour was late, Adrien was eager to begin investigating. Despite the night, he decided to pay another visit to Kubdel's office in the Louvre museum.

The old museum was dark and quiet after hours and, once admitted, Adrien had not been expecting to see anyone at all. So he was quite surprised when, upon opening the door to the deceased M. Kubdel's office, he found someone already there.

The intruder was a young woman, a petite girl with an easy grace to her movements. Kubdel's body had since been removed from the office, and she had been studying the space where it had lain when Adrien walked in. Upon hearing the opening of the door, she straightened slightly, her head tilted to one side in a silent question. She was no taller than Adrien's collarbone, yet she carried herself in a way that made her seem somehow larger. Her features were partially concealed by a hood and a half-mask, but Adrien could still make out the frown on her lips.

"Good evening, mam'zelle," he said politely. "I suppose you are also a detective, then?"

"I suppose I am," the woman said hesitantly. Her voice was low and clear, and carried no trace of an accent to hint at her origins.

"And where is the pocketwatch?" Adrien asked.

"Already sold, I imagine," said the woman. "I have no leads on it. It could be halfway across the continent by now, for all I know."

"So you weren't the one who stole it, then?"

"I was not," she confirmed. "But you still suspect me, don't you?"

Adrien closed the door behind him before taking a few more steps into the office, coming to a stop near the center of the room. "It _is_ awfully suspicious to find a masked stranger rummaging around a dead man's office on the day of his death."

"Yes, quite suspicious indeed," the woman agreed wryly, "and I must admit that I am curious about why you are here."

"I've been hired by Kubdel's daughter to investigate his death," said Adrien. "But who, I wonder, has hired you?"

At that, the woman smirked slightly. "I hired myself."

"And what have you discovered?" asked Adrien.

The woman's smile morphed from sly smirk into genuine amusement. "Ah, many things, my good sir," she said. "I know that the late M. Kubdel was left-handed, and passably fluent in six languages, and dyed his hair with paraphenylamine. I know that he made himself an enemy of a very powerful man."

"Is that so?" asked Adrien.

The woman reached for a teacup, the very same that Alya had picked up earlier. It was still half-full of tea, left undrunk and uncleaned in the chaos of the day. "Smell this," she said, and passed the cup to him. When Adrien lifted it close to his nose, she said firmly, "Careful. It is quite potent."

Adrien obliged her, carefully wafting the scent with one hand. Though the tea was quite cold and its scent had faded, he could still faintly detect a sharp, familiar odor.

"Anise?" he inquired, passing the cup back to her.

"Not quite," said the woman. "Liquorice root. Though quite harmless in its normal form, a talented chemist can distill it into a powerful poison capable of stopping a man's heart."

"So Kubdel _was_ murdered," Adrien said wondrously.

"Yes," said the woman, "and if I were you, I wouldn't get involved."

Adrien arched a single eyebrow. "You say that," he countered, "and yet here you are."

The woman looked at him sternly. For a moment, the moonlight through the window struck her at precisely the right angle, and Adrien was struck by how vividly blue her eyes were. "My involvement is not by choice," said she, "and my enemies are very dangerous. I'd advise against making them your enemies too."

Her words were dark and serious, and the tone of them sent a chill down Adrien's spine.

"Who are you?" he asked, knowing that he would get no answer even as he asked it.

"A stranger," she answered, "and for your sake, I hope it stays that way."

Then, without any warning, the woman crossed over to the open window in Kubdel's office and slipped soundlessly out of it. Adrien rushed forward, peering out into the dim evening light, but could not see where she had landed.

"What a strange, fearless woman!" Adrien muttered to himself. Though he had seen circus acrobats and young daredevils take leaps from such heights, he himself found the distance between Kubdel's second story window and the ground below to be uncomfortably long.

He returned his attention to studying Kubdel's office, but his thoughts kept returning to the mysterious woman. She apparently knew about the dead man's missing pocketwatch, though she claimed innocence of that particular crime. And although Adrien had every reason to doubt that, he found himself inclined to believe her. Mysterious though she had been, Adrien rather thought that he had detected sincere conviction in her strange, cryptic messages.

When Adrien finally slunk out of the Louvre, it was in defeat. The only real lead that Adrien had was Kubdel's mysteriously missing pocketwatch, but he feared that he would find no answers there. The mysterious intruder had insinuated that he had been killed over the pocketwatch, and yet the facts did not seem to add up. If Kubdel's killer was looking for money, then there were plenty more valuable things to be found within his office. Adrien was forced to conclude that there was something particularly special about this pocketwatch, though according to Mlle Kubdel there was nothing remarkable about it, save that it had been very dear to her father.

And where would one sell such a pocketwatch, in any case? Adrien mulled over these thoughts for the rest of the night, getting hardly any sleep at all, and awoke uneasily the next morning. He remained deep in thought over breakfast, even as he dutifully scanned through Monday's edition of _La Fronde_. The second page of the newspaper featured one of Alya's salacious crime reports and, thinking back to his encounter with Alya the previous day, Adrien was struck with a sudden thought.

He wasted no time that morning before heading over to the Gare d'Orsay, where he began to seek out Alya's alleged smuggling ring. The station, located at the site of the former Palais d'Orsay, was being built in preparation for the upcoming 1900 World's Fair, and was coming along quite well. The construction zone was brimming with workers of every sort, carpenters and metalsmiths and mechanics alike, and Adrien found himself filled with a quiet admiration for these talented craftsmen, all working so beautifully together in concert.

He then set to work, and it was a surprisingly easy business for him to at last to be directed to one Maximilien Kanté, an engineer. He was from the French Sudan colony but had been trained in Switzerland; according to colleagues, his mechanical talent was unparalleled, and he was supervising work on the station's clock tower. There were also a fair few rumors that he had many foreign contacts, in both Switzerland and the Sudan as well as farther afield, and that he was the sort of person who could help you acquire something without the hassles of customs and tariffs.

Kanté himself was a short African man, bespectacled and serious, and looked somewhat suspiciously at Adrien as he approached.

"Are you M. Kanté, the engineer?" Adrien asked.

"I am," he confirmed. His voice was deep and he had a pleasant, melodic accent. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I have heard a rumor," said Adrien cautiously, "that you are a man with connections to the black market."

His words clearly had an effect on the man. Kanté stiffened noticeably and bared his teeth in an unfriendly grin. "Perhaps you have misunderstood a joke," he said; "the only black thing here is the color of my skin."

"That's clever," Adrien said, with genuine appreciation for the pun. Then he glanced quickly over one shoulder and leaned in nearer to Kanté, to speak in a low voice. "I'm not here to turn you over to the authorities," he promised. "I'm asking for your help in a murder investigation."

Kanté lifted his eyebrows, and Adrien continued. "A pocketwatch was stolen from a man on the day of his death. I've reason to believe that it has some value on the black market, and I need your help tracking it down."

Kanté's expression grew thoughtful. "A watch, you say? Perhaps I could find such a thing. But obtaining it will not be easy... or cheap. And it would be illogical to spend so much money on something I could not resell."

Adrien, understanding his meaning, sighed quietly. "I can compensate you appropriately, of course," he said.

The two negotiated prices for a while longer, until Kanté was satisfied with their deal. "Very well," he agreed. "I will do everything in my power to find this missing pocketwatch of yours."

Then all Adrien could do was wait. Fortunately, it was only two days later that Kanté wrote to him with news of success. They met soon after, and the appropriate money was exchanged. When Kanté finally passed the watch over to him, Adrien could not help but marvel at it. It was a perfectly ordinary thing, small and silver, and Adrien could not deduce what was so valuable about it.

Kanté was little help on that front as well. "I never met the seller in person," he said. "The man would only work through proxies and secret drop-points. There is clearly something very strange about this watch of yours, but I could not discern it without revealing my true mission."

That was disappointing news, for it left Adrien with a very cold trail, but he could hardly fault Kanté for it. "Thank you for your assistance," he said earnestly. "It means a great deal to me—and to the victim's family."

"I am glad that I could help," Kanté replied, "though, frankly, I am eager to wash my hands of this. I do not typically deal with murderers and thieves, and it was a very unpleasant business."

Kanté then departed and Adrien met with the young Mlle Kubdel immediately afterwards. Though he had made little progress in finding her father's killer, she was delighted to have the watch returned.

"Be careful with that," Adrien warned cautiously. "I don't know what it is, but someone may have killed your father in order to obtain it, and they're still out there somewhere. If anyone learns that you have it back, they might come looking for you or your brother."

"You'll find them," Mlle Kubdel said confidently. "You will find justice for my father, I know you will."

Adrien opened his mouth to protest, but Mlle Kubdel quickly added, "And until then, I promise I will be discreet."

She thanked him again, most profusely, and saw herself out. Adrien had intended to return to the work of tracking down M. Kubdel's killer, but he scarcely had a moment to himself before another guest arrived at his doorstep.

Aurore Beauréal was an old acquaintance of his, her father and his father having had business together some years ago. In general, the elder M. Agreste disapproved heartily of the Beauréals, who were part of the new bourgeoisie and dabbled in the occult, but Adrien had always gotten along well with Aurore.

"Hello, my dear!" she crooned, with perhaps a bit more familiarity than was warranted. "I do hope you have been well."

Before Adrien had time to form a reply, Aurore continued on, "I have heard from your father that you are a detective of immeasurable talent, and I was hoping you could help me recover something that was stolen from me—a lovely blue silk parasol and, well, you know how the Parisian police are—so, can you help?"

"Well, I can always try," Adrien said, still trying to parse her sentence.

"Oh, excellent!" said Aurore. "The thief stole into my home in the middle of the night, you see, and ran off with the parasol. They left this behind in its place."

Aurore produced from her pocket a small black card. She passed it over to Adrien, who was quite surprised by what he saw.

Painted on the center of the card, in bright red ink, was the unmistakable image of a ladybug.


	2. The Pilfered Parasol

Aurore Beauréal lived in a charming residence on Rue de la Fontaine, one of the recent buildings done up in the style of Art Nouveau. Her salon was outfitted with an abundance of overstuffed furniture, the likes of which would make Adrien's father turn up his nose, and its walls were lined with various shelves and cases showing off a large collection of occult trinkets and charms.

Adrien walked in a slow circle about the room, and found very little of note.

"And it was just the parasol?" he asked Aurore.

"Just the parasol and nothing else," Aurore confirmed. "Not a single other object in the room was so much as moved."

Just as she spoke, however, there was a slow creak, followed by a loud crash on the far side of the room. Adrien and Aurore both turned quickly, and found that a wooden shelf, formerly mounted on the wall near the window, had fallen to the floor. The contents of said shelf, fortunately, were largely intact, although a few ceramic figurines shattered from the impact.

Aurore gasped loudly. "Do you suppose it could be a poltergeist?" she exclaimed.

"I don't think so," Adrien said. Very slowly, he approached the fallen shelf, and knelt to examine it more carefully. "Just bad luck, I think."

This Ladybug, whoever she was, clearly had an agenda. Out of all the objects in the room before him, stealing only the parasol seemed a most unlikely choice. It clearly was not the most valuable object here, nor the easiest to secretly tuck into a pocket.

Slowly, Adrien ran his finger along the edge of the fallen shelf. The wood was smooth and sturdy, and didn't so much as creak under his touch. Everything seemed to be in order—but ah, was that a splash of red he spotted along the molding?

"And this parasol, was there something particular about it?" Adrien asked. As he spoke, he leaned in closer, examining the stain very carefully.

"Well, it was _particularly_ lovely!" said Aurore. She laughed at her own joke and then added, with a wink, "No, there was nothing special about it, unless perhaps you were the superstitious sort."

Adrien was not the superstitious sort, but he thanked Aurore for her help nonetheless.

"So, what do you think?" Aurore asked.

"I'm not certain," Adrien admitted. He rose slowly to his feet and walked over to the outer wall, carefully examining the windowpane. Here there was another smudge of red on the glass, and faint, barely visible fingerprints dotted along the sill.

"I suspect our thief entered through the window," he announced. He slid the window fully open, and peered outside, scanning the walls below.

He stood like that, bent over awkwardly with his head outside the window, for a few moments until he at last spotted what he was looking for. "Aha!" he called out. Aurore came over to his side at once. She, however, refrained from hanging her head out the window, and could not see what Adrien was pointing at.

"What is it?" she asked. "Have you found something?"

"Yes," said Adrien. "A red handprint, or half of one anyway, just below the window here."

"Oh goodness!" said Aurore, pressing one hand to her chest. "You don't think that it's _blood_ , do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do not." Adrien extricated himself from the window and closed it firmly once again. "Blood would have oxidized by now, turned more brown than red. But this stain is still quite brightly colored. And it's a more vibrant hue, I daresay, than all but the most talented of dye-makers are capable of."

"Dye?" inquired Aurore. "But why would a thief have dye on their hands?"

"Because our thief is not always a thief. She has a trade as well, probably something involving textiles."

"An astute deduction," Aurore said. She was clearly impressed.

Adrien turned so that his back was to the window. "She scaled the wall," Adrien explained, miming the action of climbing, "then climbed through the open window. First set her hands on the sill, leaving her fingerprints there, and then she seized the nearby shelf for balance as she climbed inside."

Again, he mimed the action, reaching out with one hand to the empty space where the shelf had been. "It was sturdy, but not designed to support a human's weight. She must have weakened its structure, leading to its sudden collapse just a few moments ago."

Aurore clapped her hands together in delight. "Your father was right!" she said, beaming at him. "You are an excellent detective."

"That's kind of you to say," said Adrien, "but there's still much more work to be done."

But Aurore was still smiling. "I have the utmost confidence in you," she said cheerily. "So what is the next step in your investigation?"

"I'm going to go see if I can't find out who our thief is," Adrien said. "Fortunately, I think I know where to look."

Adrien departed from Aurore's home and began north, towards the Sentier district. The business of the Sentier was textile manufacturing, and it was there that people could find fabrics and dyes and threads, sold wholesale in vast volumes. It was just a short distance away from Adrien's home in Les Halles, which had given him a fair familiarity of the region. In general, it was the kind of neighborhood he preferred to avoid, for while it was home to many a legitimate business, it was in a shadier part of Paris, and the streets of the quarter were frequently filled with both seamstresses and " _seamstresses_ " alike.

But, if his suspicions were right, then the thief was a woman who worked with textiles, and this was where he was most likely to find her—or someone who knew of her, in any case. The trouble, of course, was that he knew little else about this so-called Ladybug.

As Adrien walked, he let his thoughts dwell on the masked woman he had encountered in Kubdel's office several days prior. Alya had supposed that the thief called Ladybug was somehow involved in Kubdel's untimely death, and Adrien had to wonder if she hadn't been right all along.

Adrien spent perhaps three-quarters of an hour wandering around Sentier, interviewing shop clerks and factory workers, and turning up no leads whatsoever. He described the woman from the Louvre as well as he could, but he had never seen her face, and again and again his inquiries were met with only blank faces and shaken heads. He was just beginning to think that all hope was lost, and that he had been entirely mistaken to come here, when at last he found a dye manufacturer who recognized the description.

"Yes, I know the girl you're looking for," the woman said. Her words were not unkind, but she had a very sharp and serious sort of face, and she appeared to be scowling at Adrien as she thought it over. She drummed her fingers against her coat and continued, "That little Chinese girl, with the bright blue eyes. I don't know her name, but she's one of Bustier's apprentice flower makers. I can get you the address, if you like."

Adrien gratefully accepted, and soon found himself at the doorstep of Mme Bustier's artificial-flower shop. It was a quaint little place on the Left Bank, and it looked clean and well-kept, with a charming Mucha-style logo painted on the sign above the door. Unfortunately, the shop was also dark and locked, an ominous sign at such a relatively early hour of the evening.

Adrien had not been standing at the door very long when a passing neighbor spoke to him. "If you're looking for Caline," the neighbor said, "I'm afraid she's out of town at the moment."

Adrien turned to face the speaker. He was an older man, with an unshaved face and dressed rather shabbily. He leaned casually against the wall as he smoked a cigarette. "She's taking an extended holiday in the Swiss Alps," the neighbor continued, between drags of his cigarette, "and I'm afraid no one knows when she's due back."

"I'm actually looking for one of her apprentices," Adrien explained. "A petite girl with black hair. Do you know where I might find her?"

But the neighbor shook his head. "Afraid not," he said. "I don't know anything about any of Caline's apprentices."

Adrien thanked the man for his assistance, and then waited for him to finish smoking and return indoors. He then checked briefly over his shoulder, verifying that the street was sufficiently quiet and empty, before producing a set of lockpicks from one pocket. The lock of the front door was slightly rusted from disuse, which gave him a bit of trouble, but after a few tries he successfully coaxed the door open. After once last glance over his shoulder, he crept into the darkened shop.

In the front, there was still an abandoned display of the artificial flowers. There were countertops adorned with rows of daisies and roses and carnations, glass vases filled with carefully arranged bouquets, even shelves stacked with fake leaves and foliage. Adrien knew perfectly well that the flowers were all fake, artificials constructed out of fabric and wire, but they looked convincingly real. They had even been scented with perfumes, so that they smelled like real flowers as well.

In the back, behind the display counters, was a workroom. Here, in stark contrast to the front room, fabrics and paints and coils of wire had been left heaped carelessly upon tables. The windows in the room faced east, and so it was darker here in the evening light than the previous room had been. After Adrien's eyes finally adjusted to the dimmer light, he began to investigate in earnest.

Near the back of the room, there was a staircase that led to a higher level which overlooked the main workroom. Adrien ascended the stairs slowly, and the staircase creaked noisily with his every step. On the upper level, he found wreaths and vines of flowers left hanging from the roof, and another desk coated with artificial petals, each one carefully dyed and tinted. Adrien did a quick sweep of the platform and, to his great surprise, he found a parasol leaning against the wall the back corner. It was exactly as Aurore had described it, blue and yellow with a handle carved from ivory.

He reached out for it, but was stopped by a sudden cry of, "Hey! What do you think you're doing in here?"

At some point, a woman had climbed up to a high, open window, and she was now situated halfway in it, fumbling to get her legs through. Her form was hard to make out in the dark, but Adrien was confident that it was the woman whom he had met at the Louvre several nights prior.

"It _is_ you," Adrien murmured aloud. "You're the Ladybug!"

"Just Ladybug is fine, thank you," she said. She had finally succeeded in getting herself through the window, and she glanced between Adrien and the parasol in the corner. "But you didn't answer my question."

Adrien reached out for the parasol again, and at once Ladybug sprang into action. She leapt from the window and somersaulted on the floor, crossing a great distance in a very short amount of time. The parasol was just barely in his hand when Ladybug kicked his feet out from under him. Adrien tumbled to the ground and the parasol fell from his hands, soaring through the air and landing with a clatter on the far side of the balcony.

He and Ladybug exchanged a nervous look. Then they both scrambled up to their feet, both of them rushing after the fallen parasol.

Adrien tried a fairly direct route, but Ladybug quickly stopped him by bodily lifting one of the large workroom tables and throwing it into his path. Adrien was stopped in his tracks, surrounded by a sudden rain of artificial petals.

"How did you find this place?" she demanded, even as she rushed towards the fallen parasol.

"Well, I _am_ a detective," Adrien pointed out. Though he knew it was hopeless to try to reach the parasol before she did, he was just as capable of playing dirty as she was. He snatched one of the floral wreaths from a hook and hurled it through the air like a discus. It struck the parasol just before Ladybug could reach it, and sent it tumbling down to the lower level.

Ladybug wasted no time leaping over the edge after it, but by that point Adrien had already darted down the stairs. Triumphantly, he seized the parasol, only to have it knocked out of his hands yet again by a swift blow to the wrist by Ladybug.

She ducked under him, snatching up the parasol, and tumbled away. But her victory was short-lived, for now she realized that she had worked herself into a corner, and that Adrien was standing between her and any possible exits.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

She was clearly stalling for time, but Adrien answered nonetheless. "You stole that parasol from a friend of mine," he explained. As he spoke, he took slow, cautious steps towards her. "She wants it back."

"Ha!" Ladybug snorted disdainfully. Then, eyeing his progress towards her carefully, she tensed slightly and began shifting her own position.

"You wouldn't really hit a lady, would you?" she asked, one eyebrow arched.

"Quite the contrary," Adrien assured her, "I am a great believer in the equality of the sexes."

He made a half-hearted lunge at her, which she dodged easily. It was true that Adrien was not interested in fighting with Ladybug, criminal or no, but he _did_ want Aurore's parasol returned.

"I must confess, I have little talent for the martial arts," Ladybug said, swinging wide with one fist. Adrien dodged the blow easily—as, he suspected, she intended him to—and made a swipe for the parasol in return.

Ladybug danced away from him, and they slowly continued circling each other, neither of them particularly interested in making a move.

"You're doing well enough," Adrien said pleasantly. "You undersell yourself."

"Yes, well, I know something you don't know," Ladybug said glibly.

"And what would that be?"

"You're not blocking the door anymore."

Adrien realized, in a sudden moment of panic, that they had swapped places in their silly game of sparring. Ladybug beamed at him and made a run for the window. She dashed up the stairs two at a time and, upon reaching the window, slid easily out of it and into the night.

Adrien chased after her, running out towards the door on the ground level, and for a moment was worried that she had escaped him entirely. But he spotted her quickly enough, and now that they were both sprinting freely in the largely empty streets, Adrien found that he had a considerable speed advantage over Ladybug.

Ladybug realized it too. Cursing to herself, she redirected her course to the Pont de l'Alma and came to a stop in the middle of the bridge. She cast aside the parasol, tossing it forward and allowing it to roll a safe distance away, and then whirled around to face Adrien.

Adrien, who was practically atop her by now, reached out as though to grab her. It was, unfortunately, exactly what she had been expecting. With stunning ease, she seized him by the arm and flipped him neatly over her shoulder, sending him tumbling off the bridge and into the blackness below.

Adrien fell freely through the air for a few heartbeats, his stomach dropping, before he finally crashed into the river Seine. The water was icy cold and he flailed for a moment, completely disoriented, but eventually managed to right himself and emerge, spluttering and shivering, at the surface.

Ladybug was still above him on the bridge. She was leaning over the rail, looking down upon him with concern.

"Um, excuse me, M. Detective," she called down nervously. "You _are_ able to swim, aren't you?"

"Fortunately, I am a very capable swimmer," Adrien called up. After a moment's pause, he dryly added, "Though that won't stop me from freezing to death."

For a moment, there was a look of shocked horror in Ladybug's eyes. Then, gradually, she realized that he was joking. Her open-mouthed horror turned into a grin and a bubble of laughter escaped her. Red-faced, she clamped one hand over her mouth until her giggling stopped and she was able to speak again.

"In that case, I'll leave you there!" she called down in a voice that was still colored by laughter. Then, without further ado, she backed away from the ledge and scampered off.

Adrien listened after her until her footsteps and girlish laughter disappeared, silenced by the chatter of the city. Then he made his way to the riverbank, swimming a slow breaststroke, and dragged himself out of the water. He was miserable and cold, and the chill of winter took no time at all in freezing through his drenched clothes.

The wisest thing to do, probably, would be to return home and give up on the case of the pilfered parasol. Instead Adrien found himself bounding off hopelessly after Ladybug, though he had no way of knowing which direction she had gone.

At last, having reached the corner of Avenue d'Alma and the Champs-Elysées with no Ladybug in sight, Adrien was ready to give up his quest when lo, Ladybug appeared before him, walking along the street with her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets and no parasol in sight.

Her eyes widened briefly at the sight of Adrien, but she made no attempt to run. Adrien, likewise, made no attempt to move nearer to her.

"Where's the parasol?" he called out to her from the far side of the street.

"Gone," said Ladybug.

"Gone where?"

"The Chinese Legation," said she. "I have turned it over to the stewardship of Minister Yu Keng, and he will see that it is returned to its rightful owner."

Adrien said nothing in reply, but the question must have been clear in his expression, for Ladybug continued, "I am sorry about your friend, but that parasol was stolen property. It was taken from Peking's Summer Palace during the Opium Wars, and China is where it belongs."

"I see," said Adrien.

There was a pause, a moment of silence between them as their eyes met and each considered the other carefully. There was a heavy tension between them, and Adrien found himself more and more intrigued by this strange woman. Ladybug jutted out her chin and narrowed her eyes, and even though her quick breathing gave away her nerves, she clearly had no regrets about what she had done.

Adrien found that he felt a strange sort of camaraderie with this vigilante thief and, even more than that, a peculiar sort of respect for her. "Well," he said pleasantly, "I suppose that's that, then. Good evening, Mlle Thief."

He tipped his hat at her and turned right around, headed back to his home. After a few paces, he heard Ladybug call back to him, "And good evening to you too, M. Detective."

He made the entire walk back in silence, still drenched and half-frozen, but smiling the whole way. There had been a genuine fondness in Ladybug's voice, he thought, and for some reason that thought warmed him despite the winter chill.

The next morning, Aurore came to call on him, and Adrien delivered the unfortunate news. But, far from being upset, Aurore seemed quite unbothered by the results of his investigation.

"I do apologize, Aurore," said Adrien, "but now that it is in the hands of the Chinese minister, it is unrecoverable."

"Oh, that is a terrible shame!" said she, though she hardly seemed disappointed by it. "It was such a lovely parasol, too!"

She rose up gracefully to her feet and offered him a sweet smile. "Well," she said, "I will have Papa send over your fee. And do let me know if there's anything else I can do for you.

Adrien furrowed his brow in confusion. "But your parasol is still lost," he said.

"Nonetheless," Aurore said, "you have done me a favor, and I always repay my debts. Do keep in touch, my dear, it's been too long since we've had you over for dinner!" And with that, she swept out of the room, her skirts swishing around her ankles as she left.

Later that afternoon, Alya came to pay him a visit, where she found him sitting quietly at his desk, deep in contemplation.

"Oh my!" crowed Alya at the sight of him. "You look all out of sorts! Is it a case?"

"I suppose it is," Adrien admitted.

Alya came down to sit beside him and leaned over on his desk, her chin propped up on her hands. "Well?" she prompted, always eager for details.

Adrien had not seen Alya since Sunday, and so he began by asking her, "What else do you know about this thief called Ladybug?"

"The Ladybug?" Alya repeated. She sounded quite surprised, but when Adrien nodded, she quickly began recounting what she knew. "Not much," she admitted, "beyond what I've already told you. She first appeared three or four months ago. Only a handful of witnesses have seen her, and none of them got a look at her face. Why do you ask?"

"I met her," Adrien explained, "in Kubdel's office, on Sunday."

Alya's eyes grew very wide. "So it _was_ murder!" she gasped aloud.

"Yes," Adrien said, "though she wasn't the one who killed him. It was someone else—someone who is interested in the same sorts of items as the ones Ladybug steals."

"But why?" Alya wondered aloud. "What interest could anyone possibly have in such random, apparently mundane objects?"

"That," Adrien said slowly, "is a very good question."


	3. A Mystery in Montmartre

Adrien spent the rest of December ill with the seasonal flu, no doubt caused by his wintertime dip in the Seine, and found himself taking a several week vacation from his work. Although he was loathe to halt work on his cases, he was quickly and unkindly reminded that influenza was a fairly severe illness, and soon discovered that he was so weak and feverish that he could scarcely even walk.

For nearly two weeks, he spent his days and nights bedridden, curled up with his pet cat and old issues of _La Fronde_ , which he finally had an opportunity to read in their entirety. Alya and Nino both visited him regularly, plying him with soups and various home remedies, and even Nathalie dropped by once with a package of cough drops. His father, of course, was too busy to visit.

By early January, Adrien was feeling like himself again, and began to revisit his work. He had allowed a number of cases to pile up during his illness, but none bothered him more than that of the murdered M. Kubdel. Though it occupied his thoughts more and more, the murder remained unsolved.

There was also, of course, the matter of Marie Dupain, whom his father had asked him to investigate. And although Adrien had done his best to track her down, he had found scarcely a lead on the girl, who apparently had vanished into thin air. It was a puzzling affair, and one that left him entirely too embarrassed to promptly respond to his father's occasional letters.

Things being as they were, Adrien was disinclined to take on new cases. And yet, it was not in his nature to refuse a person in need of help—or, indeed, to refuse anyone, as Alya might point out—and so one bright January morning, he found himself entertaining a certain Frl. Kurtzberg, from Austria.

Frl. Kurtzberg was a petite young woman, and she looked quite unwell. Her face was sickly white, and her hair hung in limp, greasy tangles. Her eyes were rimmed red with crying, and she looked as though she was about to break down at any minute.

"Forgive my French, monsieur," she began haltingly. "It is not my strongest tongue."

"Would you prefer to speak in German?" Adrien asked in German, for he had been extensively tutored in the language as a child.

Frl. Kurtzberg nearly wept with relief. "Oh, thank you, good sir!" she said, sinking down a little further in her chair. Then she went right to the heart of the matter. "It has been nearly two weeks now since my brother Nathaniel passed on. I came here as soon as we received the telegraph, and now—"

She broke down suddenly, sobbing noisily. Adrien wordlessly handed her a handkerchief, which she accepted with a shaky hand.

"He came here to study art," Frl. Kurtzberg said, once she had regained herself somewhat. "The police are saying that he drank himself to death, but I know that can't possibly be true—he loathed alcohol, you see. But now so much time has passed, they say there is nothing else they can investigate, and I—"

She broke off again, in another fit of tears. "There, there," Adrien said, as kindly as he could manage.

Frl. Kurtzberg sniffled a little, but when she spoke again, her voice was firm. "There's something strange going on here," she said. "Please, _please_ , can't you help me?"

There was, of course, absolutely no way Adrien could refuse a request like that. Though he privately suspected that the police had been correct, for the demon of alcoholism was quite undiscerning and could strike anyone, he would certainly do his best to give Frl. Kurtzberg whatever closure he could.

At the end of their interview, Frl. Kurtzberg provided Adrien with her deceased brother's address, and also the address of her lodgings while she was in Paris. She could only afford to spend a few days in town and would be departing on Thursday, and so Adrien found himself headed to Nathaniel Kurtzberg's address immediately.

The deceased artist had been living in the bohemian district of Montmartre, sitting in the shadow of the perpetually unfinished Sacré-Coeur Basilica. It had of late become home to a great number of artists both French and foreign alike, and had garnered a reputation for fostering both avant-garde talent and a certain amount of debauchery. Despite that, the neighborhood had still managed to retain some of its old bucolic charm, leftover from the days when Montmartre had been a proper village, before the borders of Paris had swelled to encompass it.

He found Nathaniel's studio with little difficulty, and found that the artist had lived in a very small quarters. There was only a single room, with a grimy unswept floor, and a mattress in the corner. Upon entering the room, Adrien discovered that the air smelled sickly sweet with mildew and, left in a pile near the artist's bed were perhaps half a dozen empty bottles of alcohol.

Adrien felt a small twinge of sorrow, for both the deceased artist and his sister. It did seem that Nathaniel had taken to the bottle during his stay in Paris. It was quite unfortunate, but the evidence did appear to support the police's conclusion.

Still, he had promised Frl. Kurtzberg that he would investigate, and so he did indeed investigate. He walked around the perimeter of the lodgings, finding all the expected detritus of an artist: empty tubes of paint, stacks of textured paper, dozens of brushes carefully arranged in glass bottles and jars.

After a pause, he also examined the artist's work. Many of the pieces had been left stacked in a corner, and Adrien carefully pulled them out to examine them one by one. There were a variety of traditional works, still life and landscape, but the majority by far were works of portraiture and—most curiously—they were all portraits of the same woman.

She was a pretty woman. Though Nathaniel's art tended more towards Impressionism than Realism, he painted the woman consistently, and with enough detail that she was easily recognizable in each work. The woman was young and petite, with pale white skin and pink lips that were often curved into a coy smile. Her eyes, though, were her most notable feature—they were strikingly blue and framed by thick, dark lashes.

One painting in particular drew Adrien's attention. It was done in watercolors, an unusual choice for the avant-garde crowd, and featured the woman lounging in a chair. She was wearing an elegant red dress, made of a thin, flowing material that draped enticingly over her figure. Her hair fell upon her exposed shoulders in careless waves, and she was adorned with glittering red and gold jewelry: bangles on her wrists, a heavy pendant round her neck, and a pair of dangling earrings. It was perhaps the loveliest of all the works and, most conveniently, was small enough that he could easily carry it.

He decided he would borrow the painting, then, and show it to Frl. Kurtzberg and perhaps the local police. There must be someone who would recognize the woman, and Adrien hoped she would be able to shed more light on the circumstances surrounding Nathaniel's untimely death.

He did another quick glance through Nathaniel's studio and, upon finding nothing else noteworthy, he took the watercolor painting and left the residence, locking the door firmly behind him as he went.

Alya joined him for breakfast the next morning. Neither she nor Nino was convinced that he was fully recovered from his illness, and they had taken it upon themselves to ensure that he was adequately cared for. Though Nino was unable to join them on account of his working hours, Alya brought along with her a canteen of vegetable soup that he had prepared.

"This is for your lunch," she said briskly, shoving the container into his hand, "and I'm going to come back for the container in the evening, so if you forget to eat lunch again, I'll know about it!"

"Alya—"

"And I _will_ scold you," Alya continued. Her tone was stern but Adrien could tell from the slight smirk at the corner of her mouth that she was only teasing.

Adrien rolled his eyes, but vowed solemnly, "I promise I will eat lunch today."

They settled in for a breakfast of bread and jam, with Alya complaining heartily about the quality of their baguette. Adrien privately thought that the baguette was perfectly fine, but he allowed Alya to ramble without interruption. She had been quite upset since her favorite bakery closed several months prior, and she was still chafing from the change.

She then turned the conversation to discussion of Ladybug. Adrien listened quietly without saying anything. Ladybug had been quite busy over the past few weeks, having recently stolen peacock-feather brooch, an antique sword, and an Algerian shadow puppetry set. What Adrien still found most puzzling was that there was no apparent pattern to her thefts. If there was any rhyme or reason to the objects that she chose to steal, Adrien certainly could not discern it.

He sipped thoughtfully at his morning coffee while Alya continued chattering on. He had encountered Ladybug twice now, but she was still as much a mystery as ever to him. The more he learned of her escapades, the more he wondered whether he should have done more to detain her.

And yet—there had been something about her, an aura of kindness and goodness, that made Adrien somehow certain that she was no villain, regardless of her thieving activities.

"And what about you?" Alya finally asked. "You mentioned that you were thinking of getting back into work. Have you taken on any new cases?"

Adrien was roused from his thoughts. "I have," he said. For the next five or ten minutes, he explained about the death of Nathaniel Kurtzberg, and even went to fetch the small watercolor painting to show her.

Alya gasped when she saw the painting and dropped a butter knife onto the floor. At first, Adrien thought she was taken aback by the beauty of the painting, but she leapt to her feet and cried out, "Why, that's Marinette Cheng!"

Adrien very nearly laughed aloud. What strange twists and turns this case was taking!

"You recognize her?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Alya said. She gently lifted the painting out of Adrien's hands and held it up near the window, inspecting it closely in the sunlight. "It's Marinette, I'm sure of it."

She passed the painting back to Adrien, and he set it back upon his desk. Alya took her place once again at the breakfast table, and began to explain.

"She works for an American writer living in Montmartre, a man by the name of Jacob Stone," Alya explained. "One of the girls wrote up a favorable review of his book of poetry, and Mr. Stone has been a great supporter of the newspaper ever since. He's a frequent visitor to the office. In fact," Alya added, leaning in conspiratorially, "I think he may be having an affair with Mme Durand!"

"And what of this Marinette Cheng?"

"She runs errands for Mr. Stone," Alya explained. "I've had the opportunity to chat with her from time to time, and she's a wonderfully friendly girl. Pretty, too."

"Yes, I noticed," Adrien said casually.

At that, Alya lifted one eyebrow. "Oh, _did_ you?" she asked, in a tone of voice that made Adrien quite certain that she was up to no good.

"Well, yes," Adrien said, "I have examined her portrait quite thoroughly."

Something about his words made Alya positively gleeful, though he could not for the life of him understand why.

"Well, then," Alya said, rather mirthfully, "when I go into the office I'll find Mr. Stone's address for you. And I would just like to point out that in addition to being beautiful and kind, she does not currently have a beau."

"I see," Adrien said. That was quite useful information, though he was still confused about Alya's tone.

"And," Alya continued, "she's also young and healthy, if you know what I mean."

"As a matter of fact, I do not," Adrien said. Alya laughed at that, and though it was not unkindly, Adrien felt his face heat up. Alya excused herself without explaining her baffling comment, and around an hour later telephoned him with Mr. Stone's address.

Mr. Stone's residence in Montmartre was quite the opposite of the late Nathaniel Kurtzberg's. He lived in a quaint little house, practically a cottage, with a lovely garden in the front surrounded by a short wooden fence. Adrien made his way along the walkway, which was paved with red brick, and approached the doorway.

He knocked heavily on the door. After half a minute or so, he heard footsteps inside, and the door opened with a slow creak.

Behind the door was a young woman who must have been Mlle Cheng. The portraits that Nathaniel had done of her were quite accurate, but seeing her in person revealed a number of unexpected details. Her hair did not hang in careless curls, but was straight and tied back in a very practical manner. Her pale white skin was not perfectly smooth and unblemished, but dotted faintly with freckles. And her eyes, though every bit as blue as they had appeared in Nathaniel's paintings, were unmistakably East Asian in origin.

The eyes in question narrowed suspiciously at him, and Adrien realized that he had gone on for far too long without saying anything.

Adrien cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down at his feet. "Ah, good morning, mademoiselle. You, er—would you happen to be Marinette Cheng?"

"I am," she confirmed stiffly. Though she clearly had ancestry from China, she spoke French perfectly.

"I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions regarding the death of Nathaniel Kurtzberg."

At that, Marinette gave him a sharp look.

"The what? _"_ she asked tensely, as though she hadn't quite believed her ears.

"The death of Nathaniel Kurtzberg," Adrien repeated.

Marinette looked dazed by the news. "Yes, of course," she said. She glanced uncertainly over her shoulder, and then said, "Come inside, but I don't have much time."

Adrien followed her inside, and she led him to a small drawing room. She all but collapsed into a chair and motioned for him to sit as well.

"You seem surprised to learn of his death," Adrien began.

"Yes," Marinette confirmed. "What happened?"

"He was found dead in his home two weeks ago," Adrien said. "I must admit, I am surprised that you didn't already know."

"Nath and I were only acquaintances," said Marinette. "I don't know him that well."

Adrien lifted one eyebrow. "Indeed?" he asked.

Something about his tone of voice made Marinette's eyes narrow. "Yes," she said.

"Forgive me, Mlle Cheng," Adrien said slowly, "but I find that hard to believe."

Marinette sat up a little straighter in her chair. She moved one hand very deliberately to her wrist, fingering the fabric at her sleeve. She was eyeing him very carefully when the tension was abruptly broken by a man bursting into the room.

He was dressed very flamboyantly, in a garishly purple suit that was accented with shiny brass buttons and black lace along the edges. At his neck he wore a green ascot, which clashed hideously with the purple, and on his head was one of those ridiculous Bavarian hats. Instead of accenting the hat with a feather, as was the norm, he had several bright yellow orchids pinned to the brim.

"Marinette!" he called out, in a heavy accent. "I had the most brilliant idea and I—"

He cut off abruptly when he saw Adrien.

" _Marinette_ ," he said chidingly, turning to the girl. "You should have told me we had visitors!"

"I apologize, sir," Marinette said pleasantly. "I was just about to go get you."

The man cocked his head to one side. "Hey, what's with the 'sir'?" he asked. "Aren't we—"

"Mr. Stone," Marinette interrupted, smiling prettily at him. "This man is a detective."

"Oh!" said Mr. Stone. He whirled around to face Adrien. "Jacob Stone," he introduced himself, "how d'you do?"

Adrien introduced himself, keeping an eye on Marinette while he did. She seemed noticeably calmer than before, clearly relieved by the sudden appearance of Mr. Stone.

"If you don't mind," Adrien said, "I have a few more questions I'd like to ask Mlle Cheng."

"By all means, ask away!" Mr. Stone said happily. But instead of leaving the room, as Adrien had expected, he sat down with them and waited eagerly for Adrien's next questions.

Somewhat awkwardly, Adrien turned back to Marinette. "As I was saying, Mlle Cheng," he said, "I find it hard to believe that you did not know him well, given that he had dozens of paintings of you—"

"He _what?"_ Marinette and Mr. Stone both cried out in unison.

At this, Adrien was quite taken aback.

"I take this means you weren't aware of the portraits?" Adrien asked mildly.

"I most certainly was not!" Marinette said. She and Mr. Stone exchanged a serious look. Marinette had gone quite pale, and Adrien was inclined to believe that her shock was genuine.

"I see," Adrien said slowly.

He asked Marinette a few more questions, about Nathaniel's temperament and personality, which she answered dutifully. But her answers provided little insight, and certainly yielded no more information than what Frl. Kurtzberg had already provided him with. When Adrien at last departed from Mr. Stone's residence, it was with more questions than answers. Glumly, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and began to make his way back to Nathaniel's home, to try searching it again for new leads. He ambled slowly through Montmartre's winding, cobblestoned streets, deep in thought.

He had been walking for perhaps ten or twenty minutes when he realized that he was being followed. Careful not to speed or slow his pace, Adrien abruptly changed course, taking a turn into narrower, quieter streets. He listened closely to the footsteps behind him, smirking a little to himself, until he at last came to a dead end.

The alleyway was quiet. The homes on either side of it were either unoccupied or abandoned, and besides that, they had no windows that looked into the narrow space.

"Ladybug," said Adrien, without turning around. "I must say, this is quite unexpected."

Ladybug's footsteps slowed as she came to a stop several paces behind him. "How did you know it was me?" she asked. This time her voice held none of the playfulness of their last encounter; in fact, she sounded rather somber.

Adrien turned slowly to face her. She looked much the same as she had before, though in the light of day he could see her features more clearly. No longer concealed by darkness, Adrien quickly took in all the details that had been masked by shadows at their past meetings: the gentle slope of her nose, the fullness of her lashes. When she spoke, he could see that her two front teeth were just barely crooked, jutting out slightly.

She was very pretty, he realized, and he was surprised he hadn't noticed it before.

"Your shoes," Adrien said. "They have a clasp that jangles slightly when you walk. It's a very distinctive sound."

Frowning, Ladybug lifted up one foot and turned it from side to side, examining her shoe carefully.

"Oh dear," she finally said, setting the foot back down. "That _is_ quite distinctive."

Adrien took half a step closer to her. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

Adrien arched a single eyebrow. " _You_ are the one who was following _me_ ," he pointed out dryly.

"That girl," she said. Adrien realized that she must have been following him at least since he left Mr. Stone's house, and he was quite startled. "What did you want from her?"

"I was following a lead," said Adrien. "I thought she might know something about a case. But it turned out to be a dead end."

Ladybug looked him up and down as she contemplated that answer. There was something hesitant in her voice when she finally spoke.

"You're investigating some very dangerous things."

Adrien offered her an uncertain half-smile. "I think I can handle it."

Ladybug hesitantly returned the smile. Then she motioned with one hand for him to follow her and she began to leave the alleyway.

"Come along, then," she said.

Adrien followed after her, but asked, "Where are we going?"

Ladybug spared a quick glance over her shoulder at him. Her expression had grown quite serious.

"You're here investigating the artist, aren't you?" she asked. When Adrien nodded, she said, "Well, we're going to investigate."

Ladybug led the way back to Nathaniel Kurtzberg's studio without any direction from Adrien. He followed after her quietly, though he was brimming with unasked questions.

"Nathaniel Kurtzberg was a painter," she began, no doubt anticipating some of Adrien's questions. "An Austrian Jew, unmarried and living alone. He came to Paris to study art, being a great admirer of the Post-Impressionist crowd. The police, no doubt, have told you that he died of natural causes."

"Alcohol intoxication," Adrien said, nodding his agreement.

"Yet clearly they didn't bother looking into the case very closely," Ladybug continued briskly, "for if they had, they would have realized quickly enough that Nathaniel was no drunkard."

Adrien lifted one eyebrow at that. "You speak as though you knew him," he said casually.

Ladybug grimaced at that, but offered up no further explanation. "His killer was meticulous, of course, so no doubt there was plenty of alcohol found in Nathaniel's home afterward."

"Absinthe," Adrien confirmed.

"A favorite among the artistic crowd," Ladybug said, "despite its deadly reputation. And do you know what it's flavored with?"

Adrien narrowed his eyes. "Aniseed," he said, "which would mask the flavor of liquorice root. Are you implying that someone killed Nathaniel with the same poison used on Kubdel?"

"I'm not certain yet," Ladybug admitted, "but Nathaniel was a very temperate man. He was slow to anger and moderate in his indulgences. I've never once seen him drunk, and I have a very hard time believing that he drank himself to death."

"And what if he did?" Adrien offered. Ladybug scoffed, but Adrien continued. "Perhaps you didn't know him as well as you thought you did. I've read the police report on Kurtzberg's case, and they seemed quite convinced."

"The police!" Ladybug snorted derisively. "The police, my good sir, are all anti-Dreyfusards, the lot of them. If they found a Jew stabbed to death in an alleyway, they'd find a way to call it an accident."

Ladybug, in her outburst, had begun walking much more quickly. Adrien found himself lengthening his strides to keep up.

"That's very uncharitable of you," he said quietly. "Not all of them are like that."

At that, Ladybug came to an abrupt stop. Adrien stopped beside her, and Ladybug turned her head to glare at him. Though she made no other movement and spoke no threats, she made her displeasure abundantly clear. The look in her eyes was so ferocious that Adrien felt a slight chill down his spine.

"Not all of them, perhaps," Ladybug acknowledged. "But enough. And if you cared as much about justice as you do about propriety, you'd be able to see it clearly enough."

By this time, they were very nearly at Nathaniel's small apartment, and once Ladybug began walking again it was not long before they reached the residence. Adrien unlocked the door for her, and she strode quite confidently into Nathaniel's former home, but hesitated a moment in the entryway. Adrien watched her closely. She seemed taken aback by the residence, which made him question how well she had known the painter before his death.

"They're very beautiful paintings," Ladybug eventually said. There was a certain resigned sorrow in her voice that made the words very melancholy, though Adrien did not doubt her sincerity.

"The woman in the paintings is a young lady by the name of Marinette Cheng," Adrien said, eager to break the sudden mournful silence. "The one I was speaking with earlier today."

"The girl is irrelevant," Ladybug said dismissively. She strode to the corner of the room and lifted one of the emptied bottles of absinthe, turning it over thoughtfully in her hand.

"This is an absurd amount of alcohol," she said. She wrinkled her nose up in disgust and lightly set the bottle back down on the floor. "There's no way an impoverished artist could possibly afford this much."

Adrien was less convinced. "Men often find ways to get their alcohol, money or no," he pointed out.

"Indeed?" asked Ladybug. "And what do you think of this?"

She now held in one hand a tiny black bottle. Adrien had noticed it on his earlier visit, sitting at the corner table, but had found nothing noteworthy about it. It was much too small to have held alcohol and, indeed, upon inspecting the label Adrien discovered that it was an empty bottle of perfume.

"Eau de Tofana," he read aloud. He glanced over at Ladybug once again, and found that she had gone slightly pale. "Does this mean something to you?"

"It's poison," she said thinly, "disguised as perfume."

Adrien regarded the bottle with renewed interest, holding it somewhat more delicately now. "You're certain?"

"Oh, yes," said Ladybug. There was an edge of bitterness creeping into her voice now. "I have seen it once before."

Adrien glanced over at Ladybug, and she understood his question without his needing to ask. "There was a fire, several months ago. 77 Rue Saint-Georges. Supposedly, two people died in it."

"Supposedly?"

Ladybug's expression grew very grim indeed. "They were already dead," she said. Her voice had grown very low and quiet. "The fire was only a cover-up."

"How do you know this?" Adrien asked. But Ladybug pretended that she had not heard the question, and paced once again around the edges of the room.

Adrien again directed his attention to the perfume bottle. It had very few distinguishing marks, and no text whatsover, aside from its name. He examined the bottle and its label carefully, hoping to identify some sort of signature or emblem left behind by its maker, but he found nothing.

"It was quite sloppy of our killer to leave the bottle behind," he mused aloud.

"He did it intentionally," Ladybug said casually. "It's meant to be a message."

"A message for whom?"

"For me."

Having apparently completed her investigation, Ladybug did a cursory glance out the windows, and then headed towards the exit. Adrien quickly hurried after her.

"Wait, Ladybug," he said. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Adrien locked the door again behind them, but Ladybug did not stop walking.

"What's going on, Ladybug?" Adrien called after her. "How did you know Nathaniel Kurtzberg? And how does the poison link back to you?"

But Ladybug only shook her head. "Go home, M. Detective. Make sure you aren't being followed."

"And what about the case?"

But Ladybug gave him no reply. She walked briskly away from him and quickly vanished into Montmartre's crooked, tangled streets.

Adrien sighed aloud, staring wistfully in the direction that Ladybug had disappeared. What a strange woman she was! To have crossed her path three times now was either very lucky or very unlucky, and he hadn't the faintest idea which.

He briefly contemplated following after her, but he doubted that she would give him any more answers. And as for the matter of Nathaniel Kurtzberg, he did have at least two leads to pursue now. Adrien still had in his hand the black bottle of perfume, which with any luck would lead to the poisoner. He also had the address Ladybug had given him, the site of a potentially connected crime.

That evening, he stopped in at the police precinct, and was pleased to find that Nino was on duty. Nino was seated at the front desk, carefully filing papers, when he saw Adrien enter.

"Alya warned me that you were feeling better," Nino said, scarcely glancing up from his work.

" _Warned_ you?" Adrien asked, laughing. "I thought we were friends, Nino."

"Of course we are," Nino said, "but the only reason you ever come to the precinct is for work! What is it this time, eh?"

"Maybe I just came to return your canteen," Adrien suggested. He removed the tin cannister that Alya had given him in the morning from his bag, and passed it over to Nino. "The soup was excellent, thank you."

Nino was still regarding him suspiciously. "Is that really all you came here for?"

Adrien sighed and spread his hands out in front of him. "I would also like a favor," he admitted.

"Ha!" Nino cried out, triumphant. "I knew it. Well, what is it, then?"

"There was a fire a few months ago," Adrien explained, "at 77 Rue Saint-Georges. Do you have any records on it?"

It took Nino nearly a quarter of an hour, but he eventually emerged triumphant, coming out from the records room with the relevant file. He and Adrien both scanned over it carefully.

"Oh, I remember this," Nino said. "This was Alya's favorite bakery! Two people died in the fire, the baker and his wife."

Two deaths, exactly as Ladybug had said.

"Do you have their names in the report?" Adrien inquired casually.

"Thomas and Sabine Dupain," Nino said, reading off from the file.

Adrien's head snapped up. "Dupain?" he asked, uncertain that he had heard Nino clearly.

"Yes, that's right." Nino furrowed his brow and squinted over at Adrien. "Does that name mean something to you?"

Adrien ignored the question and asked instead, "Was there anyone else living with them?"

"Well, there were some neighbors in the adjacent unit," Nino said, flipping through the documents. "Oh—here it says that they had a daughter, Marie." He glanced over at Adrien again, and his brow furrowed with concern. "Is something wrong, Adrien? You've gone pale."

"The flu," Adrien lied. "I'm still not fully recovered."

"You should get some more rest," Nino scolded. He did not hesitate to usher Adrien out of the precinct, clucking like a mother hen all the while and promising to send Alya over with some more soup in the morning.

Outside, it was windy, and the air was bitterly cold and dry. Though Adrien would've preferred warmer temperatures, he found that the chill of winter helped clear his mind.

To think that just yesterday he had been moping about his lack of progress on the case of Marie Dupain! And now she was connected to Ladybug, who in turn was somehow connected with Nathaniel Kurtzberg, and probably M. Kubdel as well. The whole thing was very curious, and getting curiouser by the day.

The next day he met with Frl. Kurtzberg again in his office, to share what little knowledge he had gleaned before she needed to return to Austria.

Today she looked much healthier than she had previously, with her hair tied up neatly and a fair bit of color in her cheeks. She still sat tensely in her chair, though, hands clasped tightly together over her knees.

"I have nothing conclusive," Adrien began, not wanting to give her any false hope.

"Then I will gladly take the inconclusive," Frl. Kurtzberg said.

Adrien explained what he could of the case. Frl. Kurtzberg's eyes watered suspiciously, but with every word a little of the tension seemed to melt off of her shoulders. It was unpleasant news to deliver, but it must have offered Frl. Kurtzberg some measure of relief to know that she had been right about her brother's character. When at last he finished his explanation, the young woman had a certain quiet calm.

When she reached for her purse to offer him payment, Adrien waved her off with one hand.

"I've done nothing yet," he said. "Keep your money until I have real answers for you."

"I couldn't possibly," Frl. Kurtzberg said uncertainly.

"I insist," Adrien said, and at last she set down her purse.

When Frl. Kurtzberg was finally ready to leave, Adrien went to fetch the painting of Marinette that he had taken from Nathaniel's home. But she shook her head slightly.

"Keep it," she said.

Adrien glanced uncertainly at the painting. "I couldn't possibly," he said, echoing her words from just a few minutes before. "It belongs to your family."

But Frl. Kurtzberg shook her head again. "I have dozens of my brother's paintings already," she said, "and I hardly know what to do with them. If you won't accept my money, won't you at least keep that?"

Adrien was still hesitant, but he set the painting back down. "Thank you," he said uncertainly. "It's a very generous gift."

He promised to write to her in Austria when he had more news, and saw her out. When he returned to his desk shortly afterward, he was left with the question of what to do with the painting. It was indeed very lovely, and Adrien found himself quite enamored by it.

Still, it seemed strange to hang a portrait in his home of a woman he was barely acquainted with. If Marinette Cheng had remained a total stranger, perhaps it would not have felt quite as uncomfortable, but as it was, it seemed somehow inappropriate to own a portrait of her. Yet he clearly could not sell the painting—to do so would be hugely disrespectful of Frl. Kurtzberg's gift.

In the end, Adrien simply set the painting aside, and it was soon forgotten.


	4. The Petite Puppeteer

On the occasion of Saint Valentine's Day, Adrien received three letters. The first was from Frl. Kurtzberg, in Austria, and enclosed with it was a collection of her late brother's correspondence, which she thought may be of use to his case. Adrien immediately penned a response to her, thanking her for her assistance and updating her on his progress—which, alas, was next to nothing. Though he had identified the poison used to kill Nathaniel, he was no closer to discerning the identity of the poisoner, nor had he even been able to discover the identity of the poison-maker.

The second was from his father, containing a polite inquiry about his investigation of Marie Dupain and a rather less polite remark on how long it had been since Adrien last visited home. He also began writing a reply to this letter, but found himself crossing out every other word. He decided to address the matter at a later date.

The last was a brief message from Alya, imploring him to meet with her at the Cirque d'Hiver on Saturday evening for assistance with a criminal investigation. She had, naturally, provided no other explanation.

He arrived at the circus three days later, as requested, and found both Alya and Nino waiting for him at the gates. This immediately raised Adrien's suspicions, but it was not until Adrien saw Nino's guilty smile that he realized he had been tricked.

"Alya," Adrien complained, "you said this was for an investigation."

"I lied," Alya admitted shamelessly. "It was Nino's idea."

Nino immediately blanched. "Oh, no you don't!" he said quickly. "Leave me out of this."

"It's just that you've been awfully serious lately," Alya continued. When Adrien grimaced, she patted him lightly on one shoulder. "Not that we don't love you just the way you are. But we can both tell that work has been weighing heavily on you for the past few weeks. Wouldn't it be nice to take a break from murder and mystery, just for an evening?"

Reluctantly, Adrien acknowledged that it _would_ be nice, and before he knew it Alya and Nino were ushering him inside, caught up in the crowd of other circus-goers.

The arena inside was smaller than Adrien had expected. Much of the interior was taken up by tiered seating, with benches starting very high near the back and eventually reaching as low as the circus ring. He followed Alya and Nino to their seats, closer to the back than the front, and all three of them crowded together on the too-small benches, their knees banging up against one another's.

Adrien took a moment to drink it all in. The lighting was spectacular—and all the more dazzling for using live, gaslit fire, rather than the electric lights that had become more popular in recent years. They illuminated both the ring below and the ceiling above, with its impressive archways and painted panels.

Nino must have noticed him inspecting the building, because he laughed good-naturedly and joked, "You look so awed, Adrien, it's like you've never been to the circus before!"

"I never have," Adrien admitted. "My father has a low opinion of the circus. He thinks it's crass."

"Well, he isn't wrong!" Alya said laughingly. "Just look at the people around you! Not the sort of folks you'd see at the opera, that's for certain."

Alya was quite right. Their fellow circus-goers were nothing like the crowds of wealthy aristocrats that congregated at the Palais Garnier, dressed up in their pearls and evening gowns. These were all ordinary people, most of them dressed plainly, and some even still in their work clothes. It was the sort of place his father would never be seen at—and he would shudder if he knew that Adrien was here.

The orchestra began to play shortly after that, and a hush went over the crowd. With a slow and stately decorum, the show began.

The performances, Adrien quickly discovered, were quite grand. The show opened with a marvelous display of pony dressage, followed by a delightful skit by a pair of mimes. Later, there was a nerve-racking tightrope act, in which a woman effortlessly danced and somersaulted along an iron cable no wider than her foot. She performed high in the air, with neither water nor netting to catch her if she fell, and Adrien watched anxiously, heart pounding in his chest, until at long last she returned to the ground, grinning triumphantly to thunderous applause.

After the tightwire performance, there was a brief entr'acte. The lights dimmed, and black-clad circus workers scrambled quickly in the background to rearrange their equipment. While they did so, a young girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen years rolled out a tall cart. Once it was in place, she quickly popped up a screen and disappeared behind it. A moment later, two brightly illuminated puppets showed against the screen.

It was quite different from the silhouetted shadow theaters of Montmartre cabarets. These puppets were not mere shadows against the screen, but translucent hides, dyed carefully into shades of red and yellow, with terrifically intricate detail visible even from afar.

Nino elbowed him in the side. "This should be good!" he whispered. "It's a Karagöz and Hacivat show; they used to do them all the time in Morocco when I was young."

At that, Adrien sat up a little straighter. Though he was not well-versed in foreign theatrical traditions, he recognized the characters' names. The duo was a comedic staple of theater in the Ottoman Empire and—more relevantly—Ladybug had stolen a similar set of Algerian shadow puppets just last December.

Discreetly, Adrien glanced over towards Alya. Alya must have recognized them as well, for she rolled her eyes at him and whispered, "We're here for fun, not work."

"Of course," Adrien agreed pleasantly.

Poor Nino, who had no idea what had prompted this exchange between Alya and Adrien, furrowed his brow in confusion. Alya declined to explain herself, but patted Nino gently on the knee. To Adrien, she hissed, "You're not allowed to think about anything work-related until the show is over!"

The show opened with a few lines sung in a foreign language, Turkish or Arabic, by a deep, masculine voice. Adrien was so startled that he jumped slightly in his seat. For a moment, he thought that there must be a second puppeteer, for the girl's voice sounded so convincingly like an adult man's that he could scarcely believe it was really her.

"Hey, hey, Hacivat, keep it down!" the puppeteer said, using a different voice this time. This second voice was completely different from the first, and also like nothing he would've expected from such a young girl.

The puppet act was short, but in the span of only a few minutes the girl presented perhaps half a dozen puppet characters. Each had a unique voice, and by the time the girl finished, there wasn't a soul in the entire audience who wasn't impressed. They applauded her enthusiastically and, flushing with delight, the young puppeteer rushed out to make her bows.

The second half of the show was no less impressive than the first, but Adrien found his thoughts returning again and again to the puppeteer. Could the puppets truly have been the same ones that Ladybug had stolen? It certainly seemed possible, though Adrien thought it was quite bold of the girl to perform in public with stolen equipment. He glanced down at the show's program, and took note of the girl's name: _Manon Chamack._ Perhaps she was acquainted with the mysterious Ladybug.

It was quite late by the time the circus ended. Adrien, Alya, and Nino shuffled out of the building, along with a crowd of other delighted circus-goers. Both Alya and Nino seemed quite pleased by the show, and they both were full of admiration for all the many different and talented performers.

"So, Adrien, did the circus meet your expectations?" Nino asked jovially.

"Considering that I had none, I would have to say yes," Adrien joked.

"And what was your favorite part?" Alya asked. She sidled over to be closer to him and linked one of her arms through his own. "The acrobats? Perhaps that lovely little ballerina?"

"Truthfully," Adrien admitted, "I was quite taken by the shadow puppetry."

"The comedic interlude!" Alya snorted. "Oh, what would your father say about that?"

She allowed herself to have a good little laugh about that before abruptly growing serious. "So, those shadow puppets," she said to Adrien. "They're an awful lot like the ones that the Ladybug stole from Sarcelles in December, aren't they?"

"It certainly seems like they are,"

"It's certainly plausible," Adrien said.

"Are you two talking about work again already?" Nino complained.

But Alya ignored Nino entirely. "Meet you here again tomorrow morning?" she asked Adrien.

"Naturally," Adrien agreed. "Nino?"

"You _are_ ," Nino said. "I though the whole point of this evening was to _not_ be working!"

"And so we weren't!" Alya said. "But tomorrow is another day. See you then, Adrien!"

After bidding Alya and Nino goodnight, Adrien parted ways from them, and headed back to his home in Les Halles. He returned to the circus early the next morning, and stood for a moment across from its front gate, shivering in the winter chill.

By daylight, the building looked quite different. What had seemed mysterious and even risqué in the glittering evening lights now looked ordinary, perhaps even mundane. Alya joined him shortly after, though she was without Nino this morning.

"He thinks we're crazy," Alya explained. "Also, he doesn't believe in working on Sundays."

"May God have mercy on our souls," Adrien said, with quick glance skyward, "and the souls of all the circus staff, too."

They were met at the entrance by a stern-faced woman, one of the managers of the circus. She was middle-aged and square-jawed, with a pair of thick glasses perched on her nose that made her serious, gray eyes look larger than they really were. She sighed and shook her head at their request to speak with the young puppeteer.

"I always knew those Algerians were trouble," she said gravely.

Alya arched an eyebrow, but she bit her tongue. It fell to Adrien to explain.

"Oh, it's not like that at all," he said quickly. "We just have a few questions."

"Of course," the woman said. She sighed again and adjusted her glasses. "Well, come along, then. I'll take you to her."

They followed her into the circus's entry hall, but instead of taking them down into the ring, she led them through a discreet door that Adrien had not noticed the previous evening. Behind the door, there was a suite of rooms that he hadn't previously realized were in the building. In them, they discovered a throng of circus workers, all of them moving about and bumping into one another and chattering ceaselessly. There were young boys ferrying buckets of oats and water for the horses, acrobats in various states of undress and, in one corner, a group of gymnasts arguing loudly about the specifics of their routine. The woman navigated through the crowds expertly, calling out greetings to some groups as she passed, and leading Adrien and Alya through various rooms and hallways.

In one particularly small anteroom, they found the two mimes from last night's performance. One of them was sitting in a chair in the corner, dressed in ordinary clothes as he bent over a pile of fabric in his lap with a needle and thread. The other was fully costumed, makeup and all, and looked quite upset at the intrusion.

"Sarah!" he complained indignantly. "I was _practicing_."

"Sorry," she apologized briskly. "I'm looking for Nadja's daughter. Have either of you seen her?"

"I have," said the mime in the corner. He looked up from his sewing and carefully folded the fabric into a neat square before setting the garment aside. "She's near the menagerie, in—"

"Can you take these two to go see her?" Sarah interrupted. "This gentleman is a detective," she added pointedly.

"Oh, what, she's not going to introduce me as well?" Alya whispered near Adrien's ear, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

The mime nodded politely and Sarah swept out of the room, clearly eager to return to other tasks. Adrien and Alya both turned to face the mime, who stood up slowly and walked over towards them. He was a tall, thin man, and he looked terribly weary. He held out one hand, first to Adrien and then to Alya.

"Fred Haprèle," he said, by way of introduction. "If you'll follow me for just a moment."

Adrien and Alya did follow. As they walked, Alya seemed more interested in their surroundings than in wherever M. Haprèle was taking them. She was quite enamored with the scenery, from the tiled floors to the exposed rafters of the ceiling, and occasionally she would jot down a few notes on her pad of paper.

Adrien, on the other hand, was more concerned with M. Haprèle, who had a suspicious sort of look in his eyes.

Conversationally, Adrien asked, "Do you know Manon very well, monsieur?"

"Well enough," M. Haprèle said pleasantly. "I do hope that she is not in trouble."

"No, I don't suppose she is," Adrien explained. "We just have some questions we'd like to ask her."

M. Haprèle considered this momentarily and smiled tightly, as though he did not quite trust Adrien. "Manon and Nadja are good people," he said. "They've endured enough hardship. I don't know who sent you—"

"No one sent us, we promise," Alya reassured him. "It's just a friendly inquiry."

M. Haprèle still seemed unconvinced, but he led Adrien and Alya the rest of the way in silence. They reached yet another antechamber, and this room was the smallest yet. It had almost no lighting—the better to practice shadow puppetry, Adrien presumed—and in it was the puppeteer from the previous night. M. Haprèle held the door open for them, gesturing for them to enter, and then abruptly departed.

Both Manon and her puppets looked larger up close than they had in the circus ring. The girl was still quite small, but she was tall for her age, and she had an awkward, adolescent lankiness to her. She was brown-skinned and had thick black hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her brow was furrowed with concentration as she practiced one-handed with a puppet that was half a meter tall.

Alya entered the room confidently, but stumbled when she stepped onto a decaying, loose floorboard. Though Manon had not noticed the opening of the door, she certainly noticed when Alya began muttering curses under her breath. The girl lowered her puppets and straightened slightly, turning to greet them.

"Oh, hello," she said politely, "is there something I can help you with?"

Her voice was high and clear—nothing at all like the deep, masculine voices she had used in the performance the night before.

"My name is Alya Césaire," Alya introduced herself, "and this is my assistant, Adrien."

" _Alya,_ " Adrien scolded.

Alya flashed a grin over her shoulder at him. "Fine, then," she said. "This is Adrien Agreste, a private detective."

Manon's eyebrows shot up. "A detective!" she exclaimed, clearly impressed. "I've never met a detective before."

Adrien found himself smiling at the girl's unashamed enthusiasm. She, at least, did not suspect him of having any ulterior motives, and he found it was quite refreshing. He walked across the room to join Manon and Alya, placing his steps carefully on the aging floorboards, which creaked with every step.

"And I'm a journalist," Alya continued, with only the faintest twinge of jealousy in her voice, "which is even more exciting than a detective, don't you think, Adrien?"

"Oh yes, certainly," Adrien agreed carefully.

"I've never met a journalist before either," Manon said. "This _is_ all very exciting."

"We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about your puppets?" Adrien ventured.

"My puppets?" she asked, seeming surprised. "But there's nothing nearly that interesting about them!"

"They're very beautiful," said Adrien. And indeed, they were. Examined this closely, he could clearly see their delicate hinges, the vivid colors, and the precisely painted details. "Where did you get them, if I may ask?"

"They were my father's," Manon explained. "We used to perform together. I suppose you could say I was his apprentice."

At this, Adrien felt a small pang of disappointment. He exchanged a glance with Alya, and she shook her head slightly. Manon could simply be lying, of course. But if her naive enthusiasm was anything to judge by, she was as truthful as they came. It seemed that the connection to Ladybug had been a coincidence after all.

Still, not wanting to be rude, Adrien said kindly, "You are a very talented puppeteer."

"Oh, have you seen me perform?" Manon asked eagerly.

"Yes," replied Alya, "We were both at the show last night."

Manon beamed at them. "Thank you!" she said. "It's much more difficult to perform without Papa, but I'm trying very hard. The show wasn't meant to be done by just one person, but I really am so grateful to have the puppets back again."

At this, Adrien paused. He and Alya exchanged another look.

"Back again?" Alya inquired casually.

Manon flushed slightly red. "Oh, well, you see," she said awkwardly. She turned a little bit away from them and nervously tapped her fingers together. "It's quite embarrassing, but I lost the puppets last year. Oh, Maman was so upset about it! Fortunately, a friend of mine helped me find them again."

Adrien's pulse quickened. Perhaps there was a connection to Ladybug after all!

Alya knelt down slightly, so that her face was at the same height as Manon's. "Manon," she said seriously, "we need you to tell us _everything_."

Manon, looking equally serious, nodded her head. But before she had the chance to begin explaining, the door behind the flew open. All three turned towards the entrance, startled, as a figure dressed in all black hurtled towards them.

In a fight of three against one, the odds were quite in their favor. But the masked intruder had the element of surprise on his side, which proved to be a sizable advantage. Before either Adrien or Alya could react, he barreled past them, knocking them both easily to the ground.

Manon gasped aloud, clapping a hand to her mouth. Without pausing, the masked man rushed at her and wrapped two arms soundly around the girl's waist. She screamed aloud as he lifted her up and began carting her away.

"Hey!" Adrien called out.

By now, Adrien was back up on his feet. Alya scrambled up after him, and they both rushed toward the masked man, who was still attempting to drag Manon away.

"Let _go!_ " Manon yelled out. She punctuated her demand by kicking her attacker in the shins, which produced an audible hiss from the man. He stumbled slightly, and most likely would have regained his balance, except that he had the misfortune to step on the same the loose floorboard that Alya had tripped over earlier. The board shifted and creaked under his foot, and in a moment of panic, he dropped Manon and pinwheeled his arms, stumbling backward until he landed with a dull thud against the girl's puppet stand.

Manon scrambled away. The man might have been able to snatch her again had she been alone, but Adrien and Alya were back at her side in an instant. Manon's attacker, apparently realizing that this was a losing battle, used the puppet stand to pull himself back up to his feet and sprinted back the way he came.

Adrien and Alya, both breathing quite heavily now, turned to look first at each other, then at Manon. Manon was making a quiet little crying noise, and Adrien knelt down by her side.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently.

She sniffled a little and rubbed at her eyes. But she was unharmed, save for a few bumps and bruises, and she let Adrien help her back up to her feet. Very quietly, she said, "I'll be okay, I think."

"Well, that was quite disturbing," Alya said. She was standing in doorway, glancing down the halls outside, but must not have found anything, for she turned back towards the room. "Did you recognize that man?" she asked Manon.

But Manon's attention was now distracted. Her mouth fell open and she pointed wordlessly towards the puppet stand, where moments before her precious shadow puppets had been carefully lined up. Now, Adrien could see plainly, the table was empty.

"The puppets are gone!" she cried out.

Manon rushed over to the table, searching vainly as though the puppets might reveal themselves. "Oh no!" she cried out. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!"

Adrien was getting more concerned by the minute. He took another glance around, feeling rather unnerved by the whole experience. He could scarcely imagine how terrifying it must be for poor Manon, who was still wailing in despair over the loss of her puppets.

"Is your mother nearby?" Alya asked. "I think we should notify her about what happened."

Manon sniffled a little, but then nodded her head. "Yes, she should be practicing now. Here, I'll take you to her."

She reached out and slipped her hand into Alya's, then tugged her along through the winding back hallways of the circus. Adrien followed after them. He quickly lost his bearings, but Manon had no difficulty whatsoever navigating through the chambers, and suddenly they found themselves in the performer's entrance to the big ring. Adrien shielded his eyes against the sudden brightness.

By day, the ring seemed plainer. It was devoid of the throng of people that had crowded in the previous night, and instead the seating around the perimeter was full of lounging performers and circus directors. In the ring itself, the tightrope walker from the previous night was just climbing up onto her wire. Though her performance last night had been done on a staggeringly high wire, with no net to catch her if she fell, her practice setup was much more modest. The wire was only about a meter above the ground, a beneath it was a large pool of water to soften her landings.

"That's her," Manon said, pointing to the tightrope walker.

The woman hoisted herself up onto the rope, then took a few steps forward, testing her weight. Adrien held back, not wanting to interrupt her practice, but Manon rushed forward carelessly.

"Maman!" she called out.

Her mother hesitated on the rope. She turned her head over towards her daughter, one eyebrow quirked slightly upward in a silent question. She stood there, frozen completely in place, for one peaceful moment, before the wire began to sway.

The woman's eyes widened. There was an audible creaking and then, all at once, the wire sagged and then snapped, dropping her unceremoniously into the basin of water below.


	5. The Circus Saboteur

Thanks to the pool of the water and the low height at which she had been practicing, Nadja Chamack escaped from her fall with only a few minor bruises. But the failure of her equipment caused a stir in the circus, and the stir only grew when an inspection revealed that her wire had been intentionally sabotaged. All at once the circus erupted into an uproar, with nervous performers all sprinting away to check whether they too had been sabotaged, and to whisper in corners about who they suspected was responsible.

As for Nadja herself, she was quite calm about the whole incident. Perhaps she was still in shock. She sat in the tiered benches at the edge of the ring, dripping wet and with a towel thrown about her shoulders like a blanket. Seeing her up close, she was older than Adrien would have guessed, and he could tell that the vibrant red hue of her hair was thanks to dye, and not genetics.

"Perhaps it's an omen," Nadja said slowly, shaking her head. "A sign from God that we ought to leave this dreadful city sooner rather than later!"

"Have you had trouble in Paris?" Adrien asked.

"Last winter, Manon lost the puppets here," Nadja explained. "I thought we'd never get them back! Fortunately, Marie managed to track them down and return them to us."

Adrien paused at that. He knew of at least one other Marie with connections to Ladybug, and he wondered for a moment if this could be whom Nadja was referring to. "Marie Dupain?" he asked casually.

Nadja nodded. "Yes, that's the one," she said.

Adrien tried to conceal his surprise, but he needn't have bothered. Najda hardly paid him any attention as she continued on, "She's a very sweet girl, and an old family friend of ours. When she was young, you know, she had dreams of becoming an acrobat. She used to sneak away to come practice with us!" Nadja smiled wistfully at the memory, caught up in a sudden nostalgia. "She was very talented, but she had no stomach for heights."

Privately, Adrien thought that he could understand that.

"Anyway," Nadja continued, growing serious once more, "it seems too strange to be a coincidence that we would lose the puppets again, and now this!" She gestured with one hand towards her broken equipment. "Maybe we simply weren't meant to have them."

"With all due respect, Mme Chamack," Adrien said, "I can't believe that. I intend to get to the bottom of this, and to return the property that is rightfully yours. And, more importantly, I intend to find the person who sabotaged your tightwire."

Nadja smiled kindly at him. "A young man with a sense of justice," she said approvingly. "I can appreciate that. You have my blessing, then."

She looked around for her daughter, then narrowed her eyes when she didn't see Manon nearby. "Now where did that girl get off to?" she muttered.

The mime Fred Haprèle, who had been hovering nearby, said, "I saw her run off towards the offices a little earlier. She said something about wanting to use the telephone."

"The telephone, at a time like this!" Nadja said. She shook her head slightly. "Doesn't she know that this is a terrible time to be running off?"

"I think the entire circus is on alert right now," Adrien said, trying to be reassuring. "I'm sure that everyone will be looking after her."

But Nadja still looked uneasy, and so M. Haprèle said, "I'll go look for her myself, Nadja, and bring her back to you."

While M. Haprèle went to go find Manon, Adrien went back to examine Nadja's sabotaged equipment. Alya was kneeling nearby it, taking notes in her pad, and glanced up slightly when Adrien approached.

"I must say," she said, "this is not how I expected this little adventure to go."

"Nor I," Adrien said. He leaned forward to inspect Nadja's equipment more closely. The tightrope had been severed near the center, with a clean cut that went almost entirely through the iron. It had held up well enough until Nadja had put her weight on the tightrope, causing the wire to fray and eventually break.

It was a well-done sabotage, Adrien had to admit. But he had no idea who had done it. The saboteur, whoever he had been, had left no other clues behind.

"I called Nino," Alya said. "The police should be here soon."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic about that," Adrien said.

Alya rolled her eyes a little. "The police are lazy, inept, corrupt," she said, ticking each one off on her fingers. "They almost never solve cases, and when they do, half the time they get the wrong man!"

"That's your husband you're talking about there."

"First of all," Alya said pointedly, "you know perfectly well that we're not married. And secondly, I was clearly talking about institutions, not individuals, and thirdly—"

"I know, I know," Adrien interrupted quickly. "Sorry, Alya."

Alya huffed softly and shook her head, but Adrien knew her well enough to tell that she wasn't actually cross. She flipped her notepad closed with one hand and said, "So, what do you say, Adrien? Shall we work this one together?"

"You interview Manon, and I'll look around and see whether I can find any other clues," Adrien said. "We'll rendezvous back here?"

Alya saluted him to show her understanding, and they parted ways. She went off in search of Manon and Adrien began wandering through the circus, hands deep in his pockets, not quite sure what he was looking for. Regardless, he found that walking helped him think. After only a minutes, he found himself thoroughly lost again, alone in a dim hallway with a large doorway at the end.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he stepped forward cautiously and pushed open the double doors. He was quickly greeted with a waft of musty air, heavy with the scent of hay and animals. He stepped lightly into the room and discovered that he had found the circus's menagerie, a gloomy stable where horses and elephants and even, terrifyingly, a caged tiger could be found.

He entered the room and lingered there for a while, still pondering the events of the day. After several minutes, he heard footsteps, and he turned slightly back towards the door.

There was a woman approaching the menagerie, petite and wearing a hood that concealed her features. From this angle, he could not see a mask, but he was certain that one was there.

Though he had only met Ladybug a few times, he recognized her quite easily. She had solved the problem of the jangling clasp on her shoes, and yet Adrien still found something incredibly familiar about her gait, and indeed her entire body language. The way she moved was somehow unmistakable.

She slowed to a stop beside him, and for a moment they regarded one another in perfect silence.

Ladybug spoke first. "What poor luck I have," said she. "I can't seem to stop running into you. Whatever are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you," Adrien said quietly. He glanced over his shoulder, checking that the menagerie was indeed empty of anyone else, and drew closer to Ladybug. "I'm starting to think that you're following me."

Ladybug tilted her head slightly to one side. "I must confess, I did follow you to the menagerie."

"But not to the circus?"

"No," Ladybug said. "I'm here for a friend. She asked me for help."

"Ah, a friend," said Adrien. "Let me guess: Manon Chamack asked you for help recovering her stolen puppets—which, if I recall correctly, _you_ stole from a M. Alec Cataldi last December."

"M. Cataldi obtained them from a questionable vendor," Ladybug countered, "who originally stole them from Manon over a year ago."

"How peculiar," said Adrien, though in truth he had as much as expected Ladybug's answer.

"What I think is peculiar," said Ladybug, "is how _you_ keep meddling in my affairs."

A breath of laughter escaped Adrien. "You meddled in mine first," he said. After all, it had been she who had stolen from his father even before he took on Mlle Kubdel's case.

Ladybug tilted her head slightly to one side, contemplating his words.

"I suppose that's true," she granted.

Her eyes flickered up slightly to meet his own. Adrien was close enough to her that he could see the seams of her mask, even a loose thread escaping from one of the stitches.

"What I don't understand," Adrien said softly, "is why all my cases seem to lead back to you."

"Maybe I'm just a dangerous woman," Ladybug said.

"What's your connection to all this?" Adrien asked. "It can't possibly all be a coincidence."

"Stranger things have happened."

"You know more than you're letting on," Adrien said. There was no question in his voice; he stated it as plain fact.

"I do," Ladybug admitted. But she did not look bothered by the accusation. Indeed, she was smirking slightly. "Now are you going to help me get to the bottom of this or not?"

Adrien drew back slightly and inclined his head in a shallow bow.

"By all means, mam'zelle," he said. He offered her one arm, which prompted a strange look from Ladybug, but she graciously took it nonetheless. "How can I be of assistance?"

They began walking together at a slow amble around the menagerie. "First the attack on Manon," Ladybug said. "Now this sabotage against Nadja. There is someone out there who does not merely want the puppets. They clearly want to send a message."

"And whom could they possibly be trying to send a message to?" asked Adrien pointedly.

"You ask that question facetiously," Ladybug correctly guessed. "You think that they must be intending the message for me. After all, I was the last person who stole those puppets."

"Well, yes."

"And yet," Ladybug said, "I think it is a valid question. To whom are they sending this message?"

"If you have any other suggestions, I'd love to hear them."

But Ladybug did not respond to that. "Tell me," she said instead, "about this man who attacked Manon."

Adrien shook his head slightly. "He wore a mask. I saw nothing."

"A mask only conceals someone's face," Ladybug said. She pointed with one finger at her own. "But there's still plenty to be seen."

"All right," Adrien conceded. "He was tall and thin."

"Taller than you?" Ladybug asked. She glanced up at him momentarily, assessing his height.

"By a few centimeters," Adrien said.

"And did he have an accomplice?" Ladybug asked.

"No. He acted alone."

By now, Ladybug and Adrien had reached the doorway of the menagerie. Ladybug hesitated in the entrance, peeking her head around the corner and, finding the hallway before them dark and deserted, she led Adrien out into it.

"Now, that's curious," Ladybug said thoughtfully.

"And why is that?"

Ladybug was silent for a moment. They walked together down the hallway, and though Adrien had no idea where they were going, they eventually reached the tiny chamber where Manon had been practicing. The room was still mostly empty and poorly lit. Manon's puppet screen had been left in the middle of the room, though now of course there were no puppets to go along with it.

Ladybug paced around the room, eyes roaming along the curved walls and the creaky, shadowy ceiling overhead. "He was acting alone," she repeated, stepping carefully towards the puppet screen. She held out her arms, as though she were grabbing a child. "He seized Manon, and tried to carry her away."

Adrien moved back towards the doorway, to the spot where one of the floorboards was slightly loose. "He stumbled here," Adrien said, nudging the board slightly with his foot. "A bit of bad luck. His grip on Manon loosened and she was able to fight him off."

"Bad luck," Ladybug said. "Imagine, for moment, that he hadn't stumbled here. That he'd gone and carried Manon out of the room..."

"I wouldn't have let him," Adrien said.

"No," Ladybug said. She smiled wistfully at him, a gentle expression that seemed somehow at odds with the fiercely passionate woman he had come to know. "You wouldn't have. But suppose that you weren't here, that Manon was alone, as he had expected..."

Adrien glanced between the doorway and the puppet stand. "There's no way he would've been able to get away with both Manon and the puppets," he said slowly.

"And Nadja," Ladybug continued. "How fortunate it was that her equipment failed while she was practicing with safety precautions, and not while she was performing without."

Adrien narrowed his eyes and turned to face Ladybug.

"Our assailant didn't intend to hurt either of them," he said.

"He was trying to scare them off," Ladybug said.

But Adrien shook his head. "No," he said. "No—you're right, he was trying to send a message, but not to us and not to them."

Ladybug looked perplexed. "To whom, then?"

But Adrien did not answer her. "I know who stole the puppets," he said.

Feeling a sudden burst of energy after his realization, Adrien rushed towards the door, intending to immediately head back towards the performance ring, but then hesitated at the entrance. He turned back to Ladybug a little bashfully and asked, "Do you know the way back?"

Ladybug led him back towards the circus ring, although she peeled away from him just before he entered. The ring was bright, and Adrien blinked a few times to adjust to the sudden light. It was more crowded than it had been before, and it took him a moment to find who he was looking for.

Fred Haprèle was still with Nadja, and the two of them were chatting in a quite friendly way. Manon was with them too, now, and she sat near her mother's side as Nadja absent-mindedly stroked her hair. Alya had wandered off to the other side of the ring, and was currently speaking with a pair of young acrobats.

Adrien's entrance did not gather much attention. Ladybug was no longer with him, though he suspected she was still watching from somewhere in the shadows. As he made his way over to the group, Nadja glanced up and smiled at him.

But Adrien did not speak to her. Instead he turned to address M. Haprèle. He had prepared an entire speech on the walk over but now, standing here and faced with man himself, he forgot all the words he meant to say.

"Why?" he asked, feeling at a loss.

Nadja and Manon both looked quite taken aback. But M. Haprèle's expression only hardened.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Adrien prompted. "When Alya and I first arrived here, you asked who had sent us. I didn't understand why you'd asked, at first, but then I realized. It was because someone had already sent _you_."

M. Haprèle did not deny it, but he did not answer him, either. "You don't understand," he said quietly.

Adrien felt the corners of his lips turn up in an unkind smile. "Yes, people have been telling me that a lot lately," he agreed. "And yet—you were the one who attacked Manon, were you not? And the one who sabotaged Mme Chamack's equipment?"

Nadja gasped aloud. "Fred, is that true?" she demanded, sounding shocked. At her loud words, a small crowd began to form around them, as others began to realize that drama was unfolding in front of them.

M. Haprèle looked away. He seemed ashamed. "I—I didn't want to," he said quickly. "But he wanted both of them dead, and I had to make it look convincing—"

"He?" Adrien interrupted.

M. Haprèle's brows furrowed together in momentary confusion. The confusion was slowly replaced with a dawning realization.

"You mean you don't know?" he asked tremulously.

"I don't," Adrien confirmed.

M. Haprèle grew even paler. "The Collector," he whispered nervously.

"The Collector?" Adrien repeated aloud.

"Shh!" M. Haprèle hissed. "He—he's not someone you want to cross. He's an extremely powerful man. He can make you do things. Things you don't want to do."

"But what does he want?"

M. Haprèle let out a bitter laugh. "What does he want? What does anyone want? But he'll stop at nothing to get it."

By now, they had accumulated quite a crowd. One woman stepped forward—the manager named Sarah, from earlier—and addressed M. Haprèle directly.

"Is this true, Fred?" she asked gravely. "Did you sabotage Nadja's equipment and attempt to kidnap Manon?"

M. Haprèle's throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed. "I didn't want to actually hurt them," he said. "You know I wouldn't."

"What I _know_ ," Sarah said sternly, "is that I'd like to hear what the police think of this."

The crowd erupted into mixed gasps and jeers, but Sarah directed two men to restrain M. Haprèle and took charge of the situation quite readily. Someone else was sent off to track down the police, and Adrien slipped quietly away, falling to the back of the crowd and then eventually leaving the arena.

Sarah was right. This was a job for the real police now, and not a random private detective who had just happened to be nearby. He started towards the circus's gateway, keeping an eye out for Alya, but before long he felt someone tugging on his sleeve. He turned slightly to see that it was Manon.

"Thanks, M. Agreste," she said. She even did a small curtsy as she said it. "It was nice of you to help out."

"It was my pleasure," Adrien said. "But we haven't gotten your puppets back yet."

At that, Manon grinned. "Sure we did," she said happily. She held up a bag that she had slung over one arm, and opened it just enough that Adrien could get a peek inside. Sure enough, her beautiful shadow puppets were inside. "I stole it from M. Haprèle's practice room after you explained what was going on."

"I'm glad," Adrien said. Then, leaning in a little closer to her, he continued, "But, between you and me, I think you ought to be a little more careful with those from now on."

Manon smiled bashfully. "You don't have to tell me twice!" she said, closing the bag firmly again. "Maman says that there's something particularly valuable about this set, so I'm going to only use it for special occasions from now on. Anyway, I wanted to thank you, because we're going to be joining a different circus group soon for the summer season. We'll be traveling all around the country and, I might not get a chance to see you again soon!"

Given all the excitement of the day, Adrien was quietly relieved that Manon and her mother would be out of Paris for a while. Perhaps that would give them enough protection against this strange "Collector" and his menacing ways.

"Stay safe, Manon," he said sincerely.

"You too," she replied. Then she scampered away back into the circus, no doubt to rejoin her mother.

Adrien turned back towards the circus's front gate, but found himself hesitating. He waited for a count of five before calling out, "I know you're up there. You can stop skulking around in the shadows now."

Ladybug dropped down from the ceiling, swinging down from the rafters overhead and landing right next to him with impressive agility. "I was not skulking," she protested mildly.

"Of course not," Adrien agreed pleasantly.

"How did you know I was up there?" she asked. "I thought I was being very sneaky."

"You were," Adrien said. He lifted up one hand, and in it was a single red button. "But you dropped this."

Frowning, Ladybug checked her sleeves, and found the spot where the button had fallen off. "Drat," she muttered, snatching the button back from Adrien. She shoved the button into one of her pockets and turned as if to leave, but paused a moment to say, in a very sincere tone, "Thank you for helping Manon. She is very dear to me."

She did start to leave, then. But something in Adrien's chest lurched, and he half-reached out for her. "Wait, Marie."

Ladybug stopped in place, but did not turn around to face him.

"That's your name, isn't it?" Adrien continued gently. "Marie Dupain."

"That's none of your business," she said.

Hesitantly, Adrien took a step towards her. "What's really going on here?" he asked her. "What are you involved in, and who is this Collector?"

Ladybug had no answer for him, and so he took another step towards her. He held one hand out to her, like one might to a frightened animal. "Are you in some kind of trouble?" he asked her.

"More than you know."

"Let me help you," he said. Very gently, he reached out to hold one of her hands in his own. "Please. Whatever trouble you're in, I can get you out."

Ladybug shifted slightly to face him. She smiled kindly at him, and let her hand linger in his for a moment longer. "That's very kind of you," she said, as she squeezed his fingers gently. But then she drew away from him, and Adrien watched silently as she pulled away. "But you can't save me from this. No one can."

Watching her leave left Adrien with a strange sort of sadness. But, eventually, he brushed the feeling away and shuffled home, hands thrust deep into his pockets. It seemed useless to dwell on it now.

Adrien met with his father for dinner again that evening. Nathalie was pleased to see him, though you wouldn't have been able to guess it from the grim expression on her face. She clucked disapprovingly at his shirt, seizing his arm and critically inspected the damaged fabric. She didn't say anything, but her eyes conveyed the question well enough.

"Some excitement at work today," Adrien explained. "Got into a bit of a tussle."

Nathalie rolled her eyes, but then patted Adrien's shoulder in a surprisingly maternal way.

"Your works seems rather dangerous," she said in a low monotone. "I'm glad that you're not hurt."

"Thank you, Nathalie," Adrien said sincerely.

Dinner that evening was excellent, has always. The dishes were all very fine, the sorts of foods that Adrien only ate when he was at home with his father, and that he suspected his friends Alya and Nino had never even seen before in their lives. Though the meal was unquestionably good, Adrien found that he had little appetite.

"Is something wrong with your soup?" his father asked.

"No, it's wonderful," Adrien said quickly. "I'm just lost in my thoughts."

"Oh?" his father raised one brow. "Is it another one of your cases?"

Adrien forced a tight smile. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Hm," his father said. He returned his attention to his soup for a moment before casually inquiring, "Out of curiosity, have you made any progress on the matter of Marie Dupain?"

Adrien hesitated for only the briefest moment before responding. "No," he said apologetically. "I've no leads on her at all."


	6. A Poisonous Perfume

In late March, the entire city of Paris had a decidedly anxious feeling about it. With the upcoming World's Fair now only a few weeks away, the tempo of the city had dramatically shifted, and the tension could be felt at all levels of society. Construction on the new metropolitan system was nowhere near complete, and crews were desperately scrambling to be ready in time for the exposition. Meanwhile, tourists and expo workers alike were pouring in from across the globe, turning the already crowded city into a teeming mass of people, all holding their breath in anticipation.

It was during this busy time that Adrien was approached by one André Bourgeois, a hotelier of some note, and an old acquaintance of the Agreste family. Mme Bourgeois had been close friends with Adrien's late mother, and Adrien was therefore well-acquainted with both André and his daughter Chloé.

The Hôtel Bourgeois was known to be one of the most luxurious hotels in all Paris, and though M. Bourgeois himself came from humble roots, he carried a certain aura of refinement that had served him well in his business. He was very a large man, both tall and rotund, but his demeanor made him seem somehow smaller. The armchair that sagged and groaned beneath his weight, however, belied the truth.

He came to Adrien looking quite distressed, his normally impeccable attired creased and rumpled, and he sighed heavily before speaking.

"It is good to see you, my boy," M. Bourgeois said, though his voice was weary and devoid of any joy. "I trust your father is well?"

"As well as he ever is," Adrien answered wryly. For, as M. Bourgeois well knew, the elder M. Agreste was a chronically unhappy man.

"I'm afraid I've found myself mixed up in a very unfortunate business," M. Bourgeois explained. "My daughter Chloé has been accused of poisoning a man—which, I assure you, she is entirely innocent of."

Adrien, having known Chloé for many years now, was inclined to believe M. Bourgeois. The hotelier's daughter was something of a spoiled brat, prone to tantrums and childlike displays of petulance, but there was a certain naivety to her malice. Murder seemed a step too far for her, and Adrien sincerely doubted she had the means—or even the motive—for something quite so drastic.

"Who has been murdered?" Adrien asked, fetching a pad of paper and a pen from his desk.

"Oh, no!" M. Bourgeois said quickly. "The boy is quite alright! He was very ill, but he's in recovery now, and his life is in no danger."

"I see," said Adrien. "Then what has made him suspect Chloé of poisoning him?"

At this, M. Bourgeois looked visibly uncomfortable. He fingered nervously at the collar of his shirt, and explained in a hushed tone, "Ah, well you know that Chloé can be something of a troublemaker sometimes. It seems that the boy was courting her. After her money, no doubt—he's just some poor stable boy from Indochina."

"I see," said Adrien again. He did his best to keep his tone even, though in truth he was quite surprised by the direction M. Bourgeois's story was taking.

"Normally, of course, no one would take his word against hers," M. Bourgeois explained quickly, as though the whole affair embarrassed him. "But his employer is a very powerful man and, ah, you know how things go..."

Adrien, in all honesty, was not sure that he knew how things went. But he smiled tightly and reassured M. Bourgeois nonetheless.

"I promise I will get to the bottom of this," he said sincerely.

M. Bourgeois sank gratefully down in his chair. "I knew you would, my boy," he said, sounding quite relieved. "I will get you the stable boy's address, and hopefully you can resolve this matter quickly!"

Chloé's would-be suitor was a young man by the name of Kim Lê Chiến, whom Adrien soon learned worked in the household of the Chevalier d'Argencourt. The Chevalier lived well outside of Paris, in a large country house in the village of Bougival. It took half a day's travel to reach the residence, a stately building surrounded by carefully tended gardens, with an ornamental pond and a tiny burbling stream that flowed through the property. Over the stream was an elegant footbridge, which Adrien crossed on his way to the front entrance.

To his great surprise, he was greeted by the Chevalier himself at the doorway. He was a stern man, and one who evidently had no taste for fashion, for he was dressed practically, in simple riding clothes. Despite his title, he lacked the aristocratic airs that Adrien had come to expect of a man of his rank.

"You've been sent here by Bourgeois, of course," the Chevalier said briskly, "but I promise I won't hold it against you."

"Well, then," Adrien began awkwardly, "I suppose I appreciate it."

"You seem like a reasonable young man," the Chevalier continued. "Once you've concluded your investigation, I'm sure you'll realize that his abominable daughter is the one responsible."

Adrien, who was not quite ready to commit to that outcome, responded diplomatically. "I will do my best to find justice," he said, "whatever that might be."

The Chevalier d'Argencourt, far from being upset by this answer, found it perfectly acceptable. "Justice for my family is all that I want," he said.

At that, Adrien furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, monsieur," he said uncertainly, "but I thought that it was your stable boy who was poisoned?"

The Chevalier's nostrils flared, and though he did not raise his voice, Adrien could sense the anger radiating off him in waves. "A stable boy!" he spat. "Is that what Bourgeois is calling him now?"

Adrien hesitated momentarily, uncertain of what to make of this news. "I take it that is incorrect?" he ventured carefully.

The Chevalier inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. After a moment, having regained some of his composure, he began to explain. "When I was a younger man, I served for many years in the army. For much of that time I was stationed in Indochina, until I was struck with a particularly severe case of dengue fever. I met Kim there while I was recovering, and we bonded. He had been either orphaned or abandoned, with no other family there to care for him, so I received permission to take him home with me when I was discharged."

"That was a very kind thing of you to do," Adrien said.

"Kim is a full member of my household," the Chevalier continued, "but Bourgeois is a petty, self-centered man. He can scarcely imagine that there's an entire world that exists outside of France, and he resents those of us who know better. I've no doubt that's the reason why he and his daughter conspired against Kim."

"That's... certainly a possibility," Adrien said, though he privately doubted that it was true. The Chevalier was quite right in that both generations of the Bourgeois family held little regard for foreigners, particularly those from France's colonial holdings; yet Adrien was not convinced that either one of them would do anything _quite_ this awful.

"Come then," the Chevalier said, gesturing for Adrien to follow after him. "I will take you to see Kim, and he will explain everything to you."

The room that Kim was staying in was nice—certainly nicer than anything that would have been given to a mere stable boy. It was warm and well-lit, with large windows that bathed the room in golden-hued sunlight, even on a relatively dreary spring afternoon. It was well-furnished, and the bed was decorated with an engraved footboard and plied with half a dozen pillows. In the bed was Kim, curled up under an oversize quilt.

Kim was quite a bit sicker than Bourgeois had let on. He was deathly pale, and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. Beside the bed there was a small ceramic basin, and it had been used recently. The poor man looked absolutely miserable, as though he were liable to start retching again at any moment, and he barely lifted his head at all when Adrien and the Chevalier entered.

The Chevalier greeted him in a foreign language that Adrien did not recognize. They exchanged a few words, and then the Chevalier patted Kim's shoulder in a friendly way and excused himself.

Adrien approached slowly, and sat down in a chair near the bed. "Hello, Monsieur..." he began, but he hesitated in attempting to pronounce the name. "Lee Shen?" he attempted.

"Not even close," the young man said hoarsely. He spoke French well, though with a noticeable accent. "You can just call me Kim."

Adrien flushed slightly. "Hello, Kim," he said kindly. "My name is Adrien Agreste, and I've been asked to investigate what happened to you. Can you tell me how you became ill?"

Kim exclaimed something, a mix of both French and the foreign language he had spoken to the Chevalier in, and though Adrien could did not recognize all the words that he used, he understood well enough that the words were not polite.

Eventually, he lifted his head just enough to look at Adrien, and spoke in plain French. " _Chloé_ ," he spat bitterly, "tried to kill me! With _arsenic!_ "

Adrien winced at that. Arsenic poisoning was certainly consistent with Kim's symptoms, at least as far as he could tell, but it was a brutal poison. If he had indeed been poisoned with arsenic, then Kim was very lucky to be alive.

"What makes you suspect Chloé?" Adrien asked.

"Well, who else could it have been?" Kim exclaimed, though his voice was still quite hoarse. "Hardly anyone else in Paris knows me."

"Perhaps it was another one of Chloé's suitors?" Adrien suggested. "Someone who was jealous of your relationship?"

But that only made Kim roll his eyes. "That's completely impossible," he said with absolute conviction. "No one else could have done it. No one else would have _wanted_ to."

Adrien believed Kim—or rather, he believed that Kim telling the truth as he perceived it. Yet Adrien still could not imagine Chloé ever attempting murder, if for no other reason than that her own narcissistic self-absorption meant that she spent very little time thinking about anyone else. There was no room in her head for the planning and consideration that a murder would require.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Adrien asked, hoping that this would provoke a more useful response from Kim.

"It was Thursday," Kim explained. "I went into the city to do some errands for the Chevalier. Afterward, I had some free time, so I went to see Chloé."

He scowled angrily at the memory, and for a moment sank into a sullen silence. "What happened then?" Adrien prompted gently.

"We were alone in her room," Kim continued, prompting raised eyebrows from Adrien, "when that maid of hers brought up some tea. Mine was poisoned."

"And you don't think it could have been the maid, or the kitchen staff...?"

"No," said Kim. He shook his head vigorously, despite his condition. "The maid brought it up in one pot. Chloé poured it into the two cups."

"And that's when you think she slipped the poison in?"

But Kim shook his head again. "No. It tasted normal at first. Well—it was quite bad, but in the normal sort of way. I don't really care for tea."

"I see," Adrien said, though in truth he was still rather puzzled.

"At least not French tea," Kim continued. " _Real_ tea, though, that's quite excellent, but it's difficult to import to France. That was actually one of my errands while I was in town. I have a contact there, a man who goes by the name of Maximilien—"

"The poisoning?" Adrien interrupted, as politely as possible.

"Right," Kim said. He shook his head slightly. "I only had a few sips when we heard a commotion outside. Chloé and I both went to her balcony to watch—there was a small riot in the street. Chloé likes to watch that kind of thing, you know."

Adrien knew.

"Afterwards," Kim continued, "when we went back inside, my tea tasted bitter. After that, I fell ill. Chloé must've snuck the poison in while I was distracted."

Adrien furrowed his brow, but did not necessarily contest Kim's accounting of events. "And you don't think that anyone else could have poisoned you...?"

"There was no one else in her room," Kim said. "And I would've heard if someone else came in. It _had_ to have been Chloé."

Adrien considered that carefully. If Kim was to be believed, then things did indeed look rather grim for Chloé. Of course, there was also the possibility that Kim was lying—but to what end? Adrien did not think that Kim had any motivation to frame Chloé and his illness, at least, certainly had not been faked.

When Adrien at last departed from Bougival, he felt oddly dissatisfied. Still, he dutifully recorded the account that Kim had given him in his notes, and resolved to speak directly with Chloé the next morning. On that account, he sent a message forward to the Hôtel Bourgeois, warning her that he would come to call.

Adrien met with her the next day at the hotel, in the small suite of rooms that had been reserved for her use. Though the rooms were not quite as grand as the luxurious suites that were rented out to dazzlingly wealthy patrons, they were still very fine. The padded chairs were slightly frayed, and the mahogany tables slightly uneven, but it was nonetheless evident that Chloé lived here very comfortably.

Adrien could hear Chloé's approach long before she swept in. Though there was not anything in particular that she was doing to draw attention to herself, she naturally drew everyone's attention anyway. The clacking of her heels on the floor, the jangling of her jewelry, the way she let doors slam shut behind her; all of this became an audible aura that heralded Chloé's arrival well before she actually appeared before Adrien.

With Chloé was Sabrina, her constant companion. Whereas everything about Chloé was loud, from her personality to her fashion taste, Sabrina was nearly silent. Sabrina dressed modestly, in an outmoded style, and wore no jewelry whatsoever. Adrien smiled politely at her as she entered, and she dipped briefly into a curtsy.

Adrien and Sabrina had never been very close, but their families had long run in the same social circles, and they were acquainted with one another. Like Adrien, Sabrina was a descendant of the old Second Empire nobility, though he had to admit that he could not remember her rank. He supposed it was of little consequence now, regardless. Though there were those who still wore their old titles proudly, most of the younger generation was solidly Republican.

Chloé, by contrast, had no titles whatsoever. A hundred years ago that might have proved a hindrance to the budding young socialite, but no one could deny that times were changing. While Adrien's father had often complained of the Bourgeois family's nouveau-riche manners, André and his daughter had managed to thoroughly infiltrate the elite social circle. And Sabrina, who had always been quiet and shy, had been easily sucked into the vortex of personality that was Chloé. She lingered beside Chloé like a shadow: small, silent, and easily overlooked.

"Dearest Adrien," Chloé said, in an exaggerated, cloyingly sweet way. " _What_ a surprise to see you!"

"I apologize," Adrien said, "I didn't mean to surprise you. I sent a message ahead, but I suppose it was delayed."

In a single graceful motion, Chloé flicked open an ornate folding fan. She began fanning herself with deliberate slowness, still smiling coyly at him. "Whatever brings you here to see me, I wonder?"

Adrien shifted a little awkwardly in place.

"Well," he began carefully, "you've been accused of attempted murder."

All at once, Chloé's pleasant facade fell. Her fake plastered smile curled into a pout as she slumped a little in her seat and rolled her eyes.

"Oh," she said disdainfully. " _That_."

"Yes," Adrien said politely. " _That._ "

Chloé raised her fan again so that it was concealing the lower part of her face. "Wouldn't you rather have some fun instead?" she asked coquettishly. "You could have dinner here at the hotel. Papa's chefs are the very finest in all of Paris."

"Chloé, your father has hired me for a job," Adrien said. There was a slight hint of reproach in his tone, though perhaps it was too subtle for Chloé to discern.

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, looking very put-upon. "Oh, very well then," she said disdainfully. "Do your work." Then, turning to Sabrina, she said sharply, "Well, don't just stand around! Go bring us some tea."

"Oh, that's not necessary—" Adrien began.

"I insist," Chloé said pleasantly, and Sabrina quickly scurried away. "Sabrina might be an idiot, but she makes the _most_ wonderful tea. And she knows how to do the fancy Oriental ones, you know, the herbal kinds, that cure cramps or fevers."

"That's very impressive," Adrien said, "but I was hoping to ask about—"

"This is what happened," Chloé interrupted, wagging one finger at him. "Kim had come to visit for one of our usual rendezvous. We had a wonderful time, but he was looking a little pale when he left. I suppose he caught some kind of stomach virus. Anyway, I didn't poison him!"

"I see," Adrien said.

"Good," Chloé said, beaming at him. "I hope that settles the matter."

The matter, of course, was still far from settled. "I'm afraid I still have a few more questions," Adrien said apologetically. This prompted another bout of sighing and eye-rolling from Chloé, but she gestured with one hand for him to continue. "Could you, um, explain what one of your usual rendezvous consists of?"

"Well," said Chloé slowly, as though she were speaking to a young child, "what do you expect happens when a pretty girl meets with a handsome young man?"

Adrien flushed bright red and looked away, prompting a burst of laughter from Chloé.

"So you're in love with him," Adrien said.

"In love?" Chloé snorted. "Of course not!" Seeing Adrien's puzzlement, she continued, "I could never marry a poor Chinaman," she said disparagingly. "He was fun, and I enjoyed the attention. It was nice while it lasted, I suppose."

Adrien shifted awkwardly in place, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "Chloé," he began hesitantly, "I hate to say this, but I'm not sure you understand the severity of the situation."

Chloé looked quite taken aback. But she was saved from replying when Sabrina interrupted.

"Tea?" she asked pleasantly, holding out the tray in front of her. Adrien jumped slightly in place—he hadn't heard her enter, and she had startled him.

"Actually, I think I should go," Adrien said, quickly excusing himself. It didn't seem at all likely that continued interrogation of Chloé would yield any useful information. But as he left, he thanked Chloé anyway, and Sabrina as well.

As soon as he had exited the room, however, he overheard Chloé berating Sabrina.

"Ugh, you stupid cow!" she snapped. Her voice was loud enough that it carried easily through the closed door. "Why would you offer him tea?"

Sabrina's answer was much quieter, so faint Adrien could barely make out the words. "You asked me—"

"This is why you don't have any other friends," Chloé interrupted brazenly. "No one else would put up with you!"

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the way Chloé treated her friend, but unsure of what else to say, Adrien quickly departed Chloé's suite. He had made it just to the end of the hallway when, quite suddenly, he felt a touch at his elbow.

Adrien turned around, startled, and found himself facing Sabrina. She must have followed him after he left, but she had moved so silently that he hadn't heard her approach. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sabrina pressed one finger to her lips, silencing him.

"Let me walk you to the door," she whispered nervously.

Adrien furrowed his brow in puzzlement, but nodded. They walked together through the hotel's grand hallways, slowly making their way down the staircase and toward the front entrance. Sabrina was silent at first, checking nervously over her shoulder as they walked, but finally spoke once there was safe distance between them and Chloé's rooms.

"Adrien," she said softly. Her voice was still very quiet, little more than a whisper. "I'm worried that there's something strange going on."

"You're not the only one," Adrien said. "Allegedly, Kim was poisoned with arsenic. Yet he also claimed that the poison had a distinctly bitter taste."

Sabrina looked surprised at this. "But I thought arsenic was tasteless!" she exclaimed.

"And odorless too," Adrien agreed. "But tell me: what strangeness have you uncovered?"

Sabrina glanced uncertainly over her shoulder once again. They were very nearly at the front lobby now, and she leaned in close to Adrien, speaking to him in a voice so quiet that he could barely hear.

"I know you think Chloé's innocent," she said nervously, "and I thought so too. But I found something... unusual in her room, and I think you ought to know about it."

Sabrina reached into one pocket and quickly removed a small black bottle. She held it out in her hand towards Adrien, and he slowly lifted it up. The shape of the bottle was familiar to him, and the words on the label were ones that he had seen before: _Eau de Tofana_.

Adrien turned the bottle over thoughtfully in his hand. "Where did you get this?" he asked.

"Chloé bought it from a strange store a few days ago," Sabrina explained quickly. "I found it empty in her room after Kim got sick. But it was full just the day before, and even Chloé doesn't go through perfume that quickly."

"That is suspicious," Adrien said. There was an uncomfortable churning sensation in his gut. He still didn't want to believe that Chloé was capable of such a thing, but the situation was looking increasingly unfavorable for her.

"I've written down the address of the shop for you," Sabrina said. She quickly produced a small slip of paper from another pocket and discreetly passed it to him. "Good luck in your investigation."

She then backed away from him, dipped down into another shallow curtsy, and scampered away. Adrien was left alone in the lobby of the Hôtel Bourgeois, with a gnawing sense of unease about the whole situation.

Adrien immediately went to the shop that Sabrina had told him about. The address was written down in a neat scrawl, but Adrien did not recognize the street, and so Adrien spent several minutes searching in an unfamiliar neighborhood of Paris before he was able to locate it, tucked away in an inconspicuous corner of the Latin Quarter.

The shop was called _Princess Fragrances_ , and it looked like precisely the kind of place where Chloé Bourgeois would shop. The shop's window was lined with floral décor, and the walls inside were painted white and pink. As Adrien entered, he was uncomfortably flooded with the scents of a dozen different perfumes, so thick in the air that he found himself coughing.

His coughs caught the attention of the shop clerk, standing at a counter in the back. Adrien wouldn't have been surprised if a shop such as this had been staffed by pixies or fairies, or at the very least by aggressively feminine young women. Instead he was greeted with the sight of a monstrously large man, half a head taller than Adrien and with so much girth that he resembled a bear. He had a youthful sort of face, however, and the roundness of his cheeks did quite a bit to soften his appearance.

The clerk regarded Adrien skeptically as he approached the counter. Adrien moved very deliberately, stepping up to the counter and leaning over it, resting one elbow heavily upon the surface. With his other hand, he slowly withdrew the bottle of _Eau de Tofana_ and set it upon the counter.

"Hello, m'sieur," he said casually. "Can I ask you a few questions?"

The clerk glanced between Adrien's face and the emptied bottle of perfume, his eyes flickering between them rapidly several times.

"I've never seen that before in my life," the man said.

Adrien arched a single eyebrow. The man, growing increasingly nervous, took a few steps back away from the counter. His face, which had already been quite pale, grew even whiter.

"Really?" Adrien asked skeptically.

At that, the man turned and bolted out the back door.

For perhaps ten or twelve seconds, Adrien stared mutely at the man as he fled. He heaved a little sigh and shoved off the counter, shaking his head slightly. Then he took off running after him.

Fortunately, the chase did not last very long. Adrien bounded out into a back alley after the man, who turned out to be a very poor sprinter. He was huffing and puffing before he'd even made it out of the alleyway and, in a stroke of bad luck, just as he turned round the corner he collided heavily with a shop sign that happened to be at about forehead height for him. He staggered backwards, collapsing onto his rear, and Adrien caught up easily.

Rather than try to run again, the man held up his hands in defeat.

"Please, I don't have anything to do with the poison!" he said quickly.

"So you do know about the poison," Adrien said.

"I just sell it," the clerk said hastily.

"That's still illegal," Adrien pointed out.

"Oh, please monsieur," the clerk said. "I needed the job—I knew that there was something strange going on, but the lady pays a decent wage, and technically she never _told_ me about the poison. I just figured that those black bottles weren't really perfume, but I'm not a monster, really!"

"Go back a moment," Adrien said, holding up one hand. "The lady?"

"I don't really know who she is," the clerk said. "I've never seen her face."

"Then how do you know her?"

"She's the one that makes the perfume," he explained. "And also... the other stuff."

"You mean the poison?"

The man pressed his lips together, looking uncertain.

"What else?" Adrien asked, guessing that the man had more to reveal.

"All sorts of potions," he admitted. "I don't really know what they are..."

"Can you guess?"

The clerk glanced around nervously. "Things that prevent pregnancy," he said, "or cause a miscarriage, or make someone sick without killing them."

"Make someone sick without killing them?" Adrien repeated, and the man nodded.

He considered this possibility for a moment. The poison used on Kim was quite unlike the poisons used on Nathaniel and M. Kubdel, which had quickly stopped their hearts. Perhaps Kim's poisoner had not been intending to kill him at all—only to scare him off.

Adrien would not have thought Chloé capable of murder, no—but would she be willing to make Kim dreadfully sick in order to get rid of him?

"Did Chloé Bourgeois buy that poison from you, the one that just makes people sick?" Adrien asked. The clerk looked at him blankly, so Adrien elaborated, "A young woman, with blonde hair, she's very loud and self-absorbed?"

But the clerk shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't think so—but we have a lot of customers. I don't really remember them all."

A dead end, then—unless Mme Poison had other employees that sold her wares.

"Does anyone else work in the shop?" Adrien asked.

"Just me," the clerk said. "And the lady who makes the products, I suppose."

"Tell me about the woman who makes the poisons, then," Adrien said. "What does she look like? Does she ever run the shop without you?"

"She wears a hood," the man explained. "She's a really private person, which is how I guessed that she wasn't just selling perfumes, you know. She says her name's Eugénie, but I've never really gotten a good look at her face. And she moves so silently, she's like a ghost. Most of the time she restocks overnight, but sometimes she slips in during the day without me even noticing that she was there."

"Is that so?" Adrien asked slowly.

"Yes," the man said. "I suppose I could try to set up a meeting, if you'd like, and you could talk to her yourself—"

"No need," Adrien interrupted. He smiled tightly at the shop clerk. "I think I know exactly where to find her."

Though it was getting rather late, Adrien returned once again to the Hôtel Bourgeois. The doorman there recognized him and, understanding why he had returned, unquestioningly led him upstairs to Chloé's suite. Again, he waited patiently in her sitting room while she was summoned.

This time, Sabrina arrived well before Chloé did. She slipped into the room so silently that she startled Adrien. She smiled apologetically at him when he jumped, and quickly moved over to sit near him. "Do you have news?" she asked eagerly.

"I do indeed," Adrien said, "though I'm afraid it is quite unfortunate."

"Oh no," Sabrina said. She pressed one hand to her mouth, but in truth Adrien did not think that she looked upset at all. "What have you discovered?"

Adrien mulled over his words before speaking. "I've known Chloé for quite some time," he began carefully, "and so have you. While she can certainly be awful in her own way, I never would have thought her capable of murder."

"Nor would I," Sabrina said. "But all the evidence points to her, does it not?"

"It does indeed," Adrien agreed. He leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers nervously on his leg. "And as much as I didn't want to believe it, there didn't seem to be anyone else with a motive to hurt Kim."

"So what are you going to do?" Sabrina asked. She was carefully feigning disinterest, but her hands were trembling—with either nerves or excitement, Adrien supposed.

"No one else had a motive to hurt Kim," Adrien repeated. "But what if, perhaps, someone had a motive to frame Chloé?"

At that, Sabrina shied away from Adrien nervously. "I don't understand..." she began uncertainly.

"Neither did I," Adrien admitted. "At least, until I remembered your rank."

At those words, Sabrina's eyes flashed wide.

" _Princess Fragrances,"_ Adrien said slowly. "You picked an apt name for your shop, Sabrina."

Upon hearing the name, Sabrina grew very still. "Or should I say, Princess Marie-Eugénie Sabrina de Beauharnais?" Adrien continued.

Sabrina's expression shifted, her face turning into a dull mask that concealed her true emotions. She sat with quiet poise, deep in contemplation, for long moments before she finally spoke.

"I suppose the game is over, then," she said quietly. "I overplayed my hand when I sent you to the shop."

"Why did you do it, Sabrina?" Adrien asked.

Sabrina did not answer him directly. "There must be something wrong with me," she said bitterly. "When I speak, no one hears me. When I enter a room, no one notices. I outrank every last person at this hotel, but the people here don't even treat me like a _person_. Chloé acts like I'm her servant."

"Why not just leave?"

Sabrina scoffed. "And where would I go? People are always the same, and I have been mistreated everywhere I go." She curled her hands into fists, clenching at the fabric of her skirts. "Revenge was more satisfying. I wanted to make Chloé suffer as much as I had."

"And what about the poisons?" Adrien asked. "How long have you been making them? Where did you even _learn_ to make them?"

Sabrina smiled bitterly. "I may not be smart, or beautiful," she said, "but I am meticulous in my own way. A woman here at the hotel saw that, and took pity on me."

"And who was that?" Adrien asked. But Sabrina's lips remained firmly sealed.

"Sabrina," Adrien said seriously. "You are implicated in the deaths of at least two men, and if your shop clerk is to be believed, probably many more. I cannot help you unless you're honest with me."

But Sabrina seemed unconcerned. "I haven't killed anyone," she said calmly. "Just provided others with the tools."

"That's still a crime," Adrien said seriously. "One that's punishable by death."

But Sabrina only laughed at that, sharp and bitter. "Not for princesses," she said dryly. "At last, my title will be of some use to me!"

"And what about Kim?" Adrien countered. "You may not have been trying to kill him, but that was still a terrible thing to do."

"And what do you care?" Sabrina asked spitefully. "He's only a poor orphan from Indochina. If not for d'Argencourt's pity, he would be living in much worse conditions than this. He should be grateful that he's alive at all."

Adrien was taken aback by Sabrina's callous demeanor. But before he got a chance to form an adequate response, Sabrina continued. "I will not out my clients to you," she said calmly, "and frankly, I couldn't even if I wanted to. Ivan did all the selling, and if he has an ounce of sense, he's already long gone."

She lifted her eyes to look directly at Adrien. "Nor will I reveal the identity of my teacher," she continued. "But..."

Sabrina trailed off, and was pensive for a moment. "There is a man," she said at last, "whom they call the Collector. He does business here at the hotel. My teacher did work for him and, after she moved on, so did I. He paid both myself and my teacher quite handsomely for large quantities of our wares."

Adrien was about to speak when Sabrina sharply added, "I have never seen his face, or even met with him in person, so I cannot describe him to you. He is careful with his identity, and only works through proxies."

Adrien hesitated a moment. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked carefully.

Sabrina tilted her head slightly to one side. "Perhaps I have a conscience after all," she said. But if she had any further motive, she did not reveal it.

"Very well then," Adrien said. "If he's a collector, then what does he collect?"

Sabrina scoffed. "Useless trinkets," she said disdainfully. "A shark's tooth pendant, or a pair of carnelian earrings, or..."

"Or a Chinese parasol?" Adrien suggested.

Sabrina looked mildly surprised. "Yes, exactly," she said. "He values them far beyond their worth, and he is not afraid to resort to murder to obtain them. He keeps the ones he likes and sells the others. I don't know to whom."

Adrien was still mulling this over when at last Chloé burst in. He had been so absorbed in thought that he had not heard her approaching. All at once, from the moment she entered the room, she made herself the center of attention, preening like a peacock.

"Hello, Adrien!" she crooned. She sounded positively delighted to see him again. "I _do_ hope that I have not kept you waiting too long! And what a pleasure it is to see you again."

"Hello, Chloé," he said politely. He turned back towards Sabrina, only to find that she had vanished.

As silent as a shadow, she must have slipped away while his attention had been momentarily diverted by Chloé. He felt a brief pang of disappointment, knowing that she would likely slip out of the grasp of justice as well.

"So?" Chloé inquired, batting her eyes at him. "To what do I owe this most pleasant surprise?"

Adrien smiled sardonically.

"Nothing," he replied, with only a faint trace of bitterness in his tone. "Nothing at all."


	7. The Murdered Master

In late June, news came to Paris of unrest in China. The city was flying with rumors, each more outlandish than the next, but the crux of the situation was this: the Boxer rebels had stormed Peking, assassinated as many as a dozen Western ambassadors, and were in general terrorizing the local Christian population.

Though Paris was far removed from China's tumultuous rebellion, in this day and age all news was international, and every so Frenchman had an opinion about it. While most were content to shake their heads and cluck sadly at the unfortunate events, the news had raised the ire of the more nationalistic sort—ire that was currently being directed towards Paris's small but noticeable immigrant population. Already there had been a riot in front of the Chinese Legation on Avenue Hoche, and unpleasant talk of taking revenge against the "heathen Chinese."

It was in these unhappy circumstances that Adrien met Marinette Cheng for the second time. Alya had asked to meet with him at the _La Fronde_ newspaper office on Rue Saint-Georges, and he had nearly reached his destination when he spotted Marinette on the very same road, having just departed the same building. She strode confidently, with her back straight and her chin raised, but Adrien recognized the tension in her shoulders.

Though she was dressed in the typical Western fashion, her Chinese ancestry was unmistakable, and these were not happy times for a Chinese woman to be walking alone in the streets of Paris. There were few enough other people on the street, but several of them were glaring openly at her in a way that made Adrien feel concerned. Though Adrien sincerely doubted that anyone would harm her, she was clearly uncomfortable—as anyone would be—with the thinly veiled antipathy directed at her.

Adrien hurried his pace to catch up with her, and called out to her amicably. "Mlle Cheng!"

Marinette stiffened at the sound of her name and turned around slowly. She remained tense even after she spotted him, fingering nervously at the sleeves of her dress with one hand, though she did not draw away as he approached.

"M. Agreste," she said with stiff politeness. "How do you do?"

"I'm well," Adrien said. "And you?"

"Just fine," she said curtly.

"I, um, was wondering if I could walk with you for a while?" Adrien asked awkwardly. Marinette lifted one eyebrow, but she looked more relaxed now than she had before. "Are you headed back to Montmartre?"

"Indeed I am," Marinette confirmed. "Mr. Stone asked me to deliver a message to the receptionist here at _La Fronde_ , and I was just returning home."

"I was just headed to Montmartre myself," Adrien lied. Again Marinette's expression shifted, morphing into a strange softness. "Would you allow me to accompany you?"

He held his elbow out towards her, and after a brief pause she accepted. Her hand felt warm on his arm, and they easily fell into pace beside one another.

Adrien's presence, in truth, did little to stop the glares. But Marinette was visibly more at ease, now that she was not alone, and Adrien was plenty happy to suffer alongside her. They walked together in a companionable silence before Marinette turned to him and began to speak.

"So, M. Agreste," Marinette inquired pleasantly, "how goes your investigation?"

"Poorly," Adrien admitted. "I located the woman who manufactured the poison used to kill Nathaniel. Unfortunately, I still have no leads on the poisoner."

"Indeed?" Marinette asked. "And what of the poison-maker?"

"She fled to London when she was revealed."

"How unfortunate," Marinette said.

"And what about you?" Adrien asked cautiously. "You haven't... had any trouble lately, have you?"

Marinette tilted her head slightly, looking up at him with a bemused expression. "I already said I was doing fine, didn't I?" she teased lightly.

"Ah, I meant," Adrien began uncertainly, "you haven't noticed any unusual occurrences?" Marinette still looked confused, so he elaborated. "People following you, or strangers approaching you on the street, or things disappearing from your room?"

"No," Marinette said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm worried that Nathaniel was involved in something... strange," Adrien said. "Something dangerous."

"And you're afraid that I might have somehow gotten caught up in it as well?" Marinette guessed.

Adrien laughed a little. "It sounds silly now that you say it aloud," he said. "But the more I learn, the more worried I get. I've started seeing conspiracies in every corner."

"Well, this conspiracy of yours has not yet caught up with Marinette Cheng," she said with a smile. "But thank you for your concern."

By now they had nearly reached Mr. Stone's cottage, and Adrien stopped at the gate. Marinette drew away from him but allowed her hand to linger on his arm for a moment longer.

"Really," she said sincerely. "Thank you, Adrien."

By the time Adrien had finally returned to Rue Saint-Georges, he was quite late for his meeting with Alya. He entered the newspaper office in a rush, tipped his hat at the receptionist as he passed by, and dashed up the stairs. Alya was waiting for him at her desk, near the center of room. He walked past several other newspaper workers, both journalists and editors alike, before slipping into a chair beside Alya.

"You're late," Alya said without looking up, though she did not sound cross about it.

"Sorry, Alya," Adrien apologized. Alya arched one brow, still without looking up, and he explained vaguely, "Something came up."

"Oh, is that so?" Alya asked smugly. When she finally lifted her head, she had a catlike smirk on her face, and Adrien immediately grew suspicious. " _Whatever_ could have distracted you from our very important meeting?"

Adrien narrowed his eyes slightly, and Alya continued, "A pretty girl, perhaps?"

"Alya," Adrien began haltingly, "are you trying to set me up with your friend Mlle Cheng?"

"I would never," Alya said. The smirk dropped off of her mouth, and her face was now the very picture of innocence. "But Marinette is very pretty, is she not?"

"Do you mean to tell me," Adrien said, "that this entire meeting was just a pretense, because you were hoping I would run into Mlle Cheng on my way over here?"

At last, Alya grew serious. "No," she said. She turned to her desk and shuffled through some papers, eventually finding a thin grey folder and passing it over to him. Adrien flipped it open to the first page, and was greeted with several gruesome photographs from a crime scene. "That came from Nino," she explained.

As Adrien continued paging through the file, Alya explained, "His name was Jiang Li Fu. He was found dead in his home just a few days ago, and the police have just concluded their investigation."

"And?"

"They determined that his death was an accident."

Adrien lifted his brows. "This was clearly murder," he said. "Why would they say something like that, when it's so clearly false?"

Alya glanced nervously around the room, checking for eavesdroppers, but the other _Frondeuses_ were all engrossed in their own work. "Do you really have to ask that?" she said in a low voice. "You've seen this kind of thing before. Kubdel, Kurtzberg, now this man from China?"

After a moment's hesitation, Adrien said, "I don't understand. You think that this crime is also connected?"

Alya rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant," she muttered. "What I'm saying is, thirty years ago, a quadroon was one of the most celebrated writers in all of France, but nowadays I can hardly walk down the street without attracting dirty looks."

Adrien was still confused, so Alya leaned even closer and whispered, "People just don't _care_ anymore. Not if you aren't French."

Adrien was taken aback. "Alya, I've always thought of you as French," he said honestly. "And even if you weren't, that wouldn't—"

"That's beside the point, Adrien," Alya interrupted tartly. "Nino passed this on to me—he hoped that I could write an article for the paper about it, and maybe if it got enough attention it would shame the police into doing their job. But, well, what with all the _other_ news about China right now, Mme Durand forbade me from doing the story. You, on the other hand..."

Alya spread her hands out in a gesture of helplessness.

"Of course I'll look into it," Adrien said.

Alya smiled gratefully at him. "I knew we could count on you," she said. "Now scat! I've got plenty enough other work without you distracting me. I've been trying to infiltrate a secret cult of devil-worshippers all week, and I'm on the verge of a breakthrough."

Adrien quickly took his leave, heading back home with Alya's files. Once he had returned to his apartment in Les Halles, he spent the rest of the morning analyzing all the documents quite thoroughly. There was little enough information provided in the file—only the old man's name, his address, and the gruesome crime photos from the scene.

With few other leads, Adrien decided to pay a visit to Fu's apartment, located just to the north in the Arts et Métiers district. Without a key to access the residence, he sought assistance from the landlord, an owlish old man full of nervous energy. He led Adrien to Fu's old unit, gripping a large ring of keys in one hand and chattering all the way.

"Master Fu, they called him," the landlord explained. "Don't know what he was master of, though. We were all heartbroken when we heard what happened to him."

"Were you close?" Adrien inquired politely.

The landlord squinted for a moment as he contemplated that statement. "We weren't really friends," he eventually said. "He was late with the rent more often than not. Hard to be too close with someone who always owes you money. It's just a bit awkward, you know. But Fu was always nice, always had a smile on his face."

They came to stop at last in front of a damaged wooden door that looked like it had been gouged with a knife. "This is the one," the landlord said. With one shaky hand, he lifted up the jangling key ring and unlocked the door. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing for Adrien to enter.

Adrien pushed the door slowly open, and stepped into a dim room that was scarcely larger than a closet. Fu's personal belongings had already been cleared out of the space, and all that was left behind were the meager furnishings. There was a thin mattress on an uneven bed frame in the corner of the room, and in the other corner a tiny wooden table with a single chair. In the center of the room, there was a large, dark stain on the splintered floor that someone had attempted to scrub away. Looking at it, Adrien felt an uncomfortable chill.

The landlord looked uncomfortable as well. "I'm surprised to see you here, you know," he admitted, "but I'm glad. It didn't sit right with me, them barely even investigating this."

Adrien agreed. He had known of cases where people gravely injured themselves out of mere clumsiness—people who had killed themselves, even, from falling wrong. But he'd never heard of anyone accidentally gutting themselves from bladder to sternum.

Adrien walked slowly over to the far side of the room, stepping carefully away from the bloodstain in the center of the floor, to examine the window more closely. He reached up to pull the curtains aside, but as he did, one end of the curtain rod became detached from the wall, swinging down in a terrible clatter.

Behind him, the landlord chuckled nervously. "It, ah, does that sometimes," he said sheepishly. "This whole building is falling to pieces, I'm afraid. You can just pop it back up there, and it'll stay well enough, at least as long as you don't disturb it."

Cautiously, Adrien replaced the curtain rod. He took another glance around the room, then turned to the landlord and asked, "Can you think of any reason why someone would want to murder M. Fu? Did he have any enemies, or other people he owed money to?"

The landlord shook his head. "Like I said, Fu was real nice," he answered. "I don't know anybody that didn't like him. Except, well, you know."

"I'm afraid I don't know."

The landlord coughed uncomfortably and shuffled his feet. "No, I suppose you wouldn't," he said, in a sort of delicate way, though Adrien did not understand his implication. "I've still got some of his things in a box downstairs, if you'd like," he continued. "Mostly just papers, but maybe they'd be useful to your investigation?"

"That would be very helpful," Adrien said to the landlord. "Thank you, M. Damoclès."

M. Damoclès bobbed his head in a nod. "All right, then," he said, backing slowly towards the door. "I'll go and gather those for you. Take as much time as you need up here."

"Thank you," Adrien said again. Then he returned his attentions to the room and, very slowly, took another walk around its edges.

The emptied room held few clues, either about its inhabitant or the grisly murder that had taken place within. It seemed that Fu had lived in abject poverty and with no particular enemies, which left Adrien struggling to find a motive for the murder. He examined the window carefully, checking for any hint that someone might have broken in through it, and found nothing.

He was just about to give up on the whole endeavor when he heard the creak of the floorboards from the hallway. He turned back around to the door, which M. Damoclès had left slightly ajar. Adrien got the briefest glimpse of a female figure through the opening, before she realized that she'd been spotted. With a gasp, she quickly drew away.

He walked slowly over to the door, and cautiously swung it fully open. It squealed on its hinges as it moved and revealed nothing but the dark, empty hallway without. Adrien edged out through the doorway, and carefully swept his gaze from one end of the hall to the other.

"Hello?" he called out cautiously. "Is there someone there?"

After a moment of silence, a second door across the hallway opened, just a crack. Adrien cautiously approached, and saw a sliver of a woman's face on the other side.

"You're here about Master Fu?" she whispered.

She spoke with a thick accent, and Adrien guessed that she was also Chinese. "I am," he replied. He took a few more steps towards her, eventually coming to a stop in front of the door. "Do you know something about what happened to him?"

The door opened a little wider, revealing the woman fully. She was petite and obviously of East Asian ancestry, though she wore a Western-style dress made of blue calico. Her straight black hair fell in an uneven bob around her chin, and her long, choppy bangs partially concealed her eyes.

"A man came for him," she explained. Her eyes darted briefly out to the left, as though she were afraid of being overheard, and she continued in an even quieter voice, "He was huge, and he didn't speak. He dressed all in black and carried a long knife, and he took Master Fu's bracelet with him when he left."

"His bracelet?"

The woman nodded. "It's made out of jade beads. Master Fu said that it was magical—that it made anyone who wore it immortal. I thought it was just superstition, but maybe..."

She trailed off. She craned her head out to check the hallway again, and though it was still empty, she still looked quite anxious. "That's all I know," she finished abruptly, and quickly closed the door in Adrien's face.

Adrien stared for a moment at the closed door, contemplating the words that the woman had shared with him. Then, very slowly and still deep in thought, he departed back down the stairs.

That evening, a gilded hair comb mysteriously disappeared from Chloé's suite at the Hôtel Bourgeois. Left in its place was a heavy black card, with a stylized image of a ladybug printed on it in bright red ink. Two days later, as part of Alya's continuing coverage on the mysterious lady thief, a short paragraph about the incident appeared on the third page of _La Fronde_.

Six days after the comb disappeared, Ladybug deftly scaled the walls of the Hôtel Bourgeois and, with impressive grace, slipped in through an open window to Chloé's drawing room. Moving silently through the darkened space, she lowered herself to the floor and began creeping towards Chloé's bedroom.

"How nice of you to drop by, Ladybug," Adrien said softly.

Ladybug gasped audibly at the sound and whirled around. She clamped one hand over her mouth, muffling any further outbursts, and stumbled backwards until she ran up against a sofa. With narrowed eyes, she peered into the darkness, until at last she spotted Adrien lounging in an armchair in the blackest corner of the room.

Slowly, she lowered her hand. "What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Waiting for you," Adrien said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the black and red calling card that had been left on Chloé Bourgeois's vanity several nights before. "I had a feeling this would catch your attention."

Ladybug's expression morphed from confusion to irritation. " _You're_ the one who stole the comb," she deduced. "Then you left one of my cards, hoping that I would come to investigate the copycat crime?"

"I didn't know how else to contact you."

"That was a _terrible_ plan."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"And how many nights have you spent waiting here in the dark?"

More than Adrien wanted to admit. "That's beside the point," he said. "Ladybug, I need your help."

Ladybug scoffed. "No, you don't," she said. The words were firm, though not unkind. "You need to drop this case. I'm very sorry about that poor artist, but trust me, you don't want to get involved."

"This isn't about him," Adrien said. "At least, not exactly."

"The Egyptologist, then?"

"It's about you," Adrien said. Underneath her mask, Ladybug furrowed her brows. "What's so special about the trinkets that you're stealing?"

Ladybug set her mouth into a firm line and remained stubbornly silent.

"You only steal things that were stolen once before," Adrien guessed. Ladybug inhaled deeply through her nose but said nothing. "You do your best to return the artifacts to their rightful owners. You sent Aurore's parasol back to Peking, and brought Manon's puppets back to her."

Adrien stood up and carefully took a few steps towards her. Ladybug did not back away, but narrowed her eyes dangerously at him. "You leave your card behind," he said, again lifting the black and red card—the very same one that she had left in Aurore's salon all those months ago, "so that everyone will know that it was you. Why?"

"It's not important," Ladybug said curtly. She did not back away from Adrien but averted her eyes, so that he could no longer clearly make out her expression.

"It's important to me," Adrien countered, "and I'd wager that it's important to you as well."

Ladybug did not answer him immediately and so Adrien pressed on. "Someone is out there committing murder over these items. I can't force you to tell me, but I can't pretend ignorance either. My conscience won't allow me to."

Ladybug lifted her eyes to meet his. "You have a good heart, detective," she said.

"That's not an answer," Adrien said.

They were standing very close, now. Adrien had not realized just how close until they were both startled by the sound of a loud snore coming from Chloé's bedroom. All at once, like a spell had been broken, both he and Ladybug drew back, suddenly acutely aware of where they were.

"I will help you," Ladybug said softly, "if only because you're so dreadfully stubborn." She glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of Chloé's bedroom. "But not here. Meet me at 12 Rue de Laval. Thirty minutes."

Adrien nodded to show that he understood, and Ladybug left just as silently as she had entered. Adrien contemplated following her out the window, but ultimately decided that the stairs were a safer option. By the time he reached the ground, Ladybug was already long gone, and he made the slow walk to Rue de Laval alone.

The address Ladybug had given him was located in Montmartre, and there Adrien discovered an empty storefront. The door was boarded up, but one of the windows was open, without even a glass pane left in its frame, allowing Adrien to easily climb inside. Within, Adrien could make out the dim remains of a cabaret, full of splintery old tables and broken chairs, and with long-forgotten scraps of paper and broken glass littering the floor. It looked as though the place had been abandoned for quite some time.

Ladybug was already there. She had seated herself in one of the sturdier chairs, and rose to greet him as he approached.

"I hope this isn't where you're living," Adrien said, as he eyed the filthy building uncertainly.

"It's not," Ladybug confirmed. "But there are some things I would still like to keep a secret."

"Like your face?" Adrien asked. He gestured at her mask. "I already know your identity, you know. There's no need for that."

"You've only learned my name, not my identity," Ladybug said. "The mask stays on. Now, what do you want to know?"

Adrien reached into his coat and removed the same folder that Alya had given him earlier in the week, which now additionally contained some of the documents that M. Damoclès had provided him with. He passed it over to Ladybug, who flicked it open and quickly skimmed through its contents.

"Jiang Li Fu," she read aloud. "A scholar from China's Wenzhou province. Born in seventeen—"

Ladybug cut off abruptly with a quiet choking sound. Adrien raised one eyebrow in question, but Ladybug quickly recovered and continued. "Seventeen hundred seventy-three?" she finished. "That can't possibly be right."

Adrien did not answer her immediately, prompting Ladybug to close the file and toss it down onto a nearby table. "Do you mean to tell me that this man was a hundred and twenty-seven years old? That's impossible."

"Is it?" Adrien asked cryptically.

Something about his tone gave Ladybug pause. "What aren't you telling me?" she asked quietly.

"Allegedly," Adrien began, "M. Fu here was in possession of a rather interesting relic. A jade bracelet that granted the wearer immortality."

At that, Ladybug froze in place. "The Collector," she spat bitterly.

"He killed this man, didn't he?" Adrien asked. "And Kurtzberg and Kubdel as well?"

"Presumably."

"Why?"

Ladybug breathed out deeply and began pacing. "I don't know," she admitted. "He wants these things—jewelry, trinkets, ancient artifacts. Things that he believes are enchanted, or cursed."

"Are they?"

Ladybug shook her head slightly. "I don't know," she said again. "I mean—they can't possibly be. Can they?"

Adrien was not the superstitious sort. He did not give much credence to sensational stories of mummy's curses or ancient magic. But even he found himself contemplating the possibility that Fu had indeed lived to one hundred twenty-seven years old, and that a magical bracelet was the cause of it.

"Whether it's real or not," Adrien eventually said, "we have a man who's not afraid to kill for them."

"You're right, of course," Ladybug said. She shook her head slightly. "The Collector doesn't like to get his hands dirty, and he doesn't like loose ends. He doesn't just steal things—he murders their previous owners. Or _has_ them murdered by his lackeys, rather."

"What do you know about these lackeys?" Adrien asked.

"Little enough," Ladybug admitted. "They all go by secret names. There's the Peacock—she favors poison—and the Butterfly, who specializes in subterfuge. A handful of others that I've only heard rumors about."

"And these supposedly enchanted items," Adrien continued, "how do you track them down?"

"I have a contact," said Ladybug. "An eccentric but wealthy poet." Adrien arched an eyebrow, and she continued. "He's not involved in the market, but he has a talent for gossip, and he's more clever than he lets on. If this magical jade bracelet turns up in someone's house, he'll hear of it."

"I have a contact as well," Adrien said. "Well... of a sort, anyway."

"Then it's settled," Ladybug said briskly. "We'll rendezvous back here at the same time tomorrow evening, and see what we've turned up, and whether we find anything that will trace back to the perpetrators of this crime."

Ladybug turned to leave, moving towards the open window. But Adrien crossed the room in a few quick strides, and stopped her with a light hand on her wrist.

She turned toward him, confused, and he withdrew his hand.

"Is this what you've been doing?" he asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Adrien began, then trailed off. He rubbed anxiously at the back of his neck. "Tracking down stolen items, returning them to their owners, looking for any clues that might lead you to the next person in the conspiracy... is this what you've been doing, all these months?"

Ladybug smiled nervously at him. "I thought we'd already established that."

"All alone?"

Ladybug looked away. Her hands were still resting on the window sill, and in one smooth motion, she slid out through the window and to the other side. "It's dangerous work," she said lightly. "See you tomorrow, Adrien."

Then she slipped away, vanishing completely in the darkness of the night.

In the early hours of the next morning, Adrien made his way to the Gare d'Orsay. Though the station had been formally opened on 28 May, and had already seen considerable business shuffling fair-goers to and from Paris, there was still plenty of work to be done maintaining its electrified rail lines.

Kanté, the Sudanese-Swiss engineer, was no longer working at the station, having already finished work on its clock tower long ago. But his old colleagues were able to direct Adrien to his new place of employment, a temporary gig assisting at the Palace of Electricity at the Exposition.

When Adrien approached him there, Kanté was not at all happy to see him, and he was even less happy after Adrien described the situation to him.

"I believe I told you before," Kanté said, "that I deal in silks and spices, not killers and thieves. Smuggling is one thing, but murder is quite another."

"Then just give me a hint," Adrien begged. "Another contact, someone with fewer scruples than you."

Kanté was still frowning, but he said, "Very well, then. Walk with me a while, my friend."

They began walking together, wandering slowly away from Kanté's post. Kanté was silent for a long time, as they meandered along the Champ de Mars and beneath the Eiffel Tower. He glanced casually over his shoulder several times, to check that they were not being followed, and only began to speak once they'd reached the Pont d'Iéna.

"There is a man who calls himself the Butterfly," he said in a low voice, "who deals in strange artifacts, like the ones you speak of." Noticing Adrien's expression, he continued, "You recognize the name?"

"Yes."

"I have heard, but cannot verify, that his legal name is Noor ad-Din," Kanté continued. "He does his business in Pigalle, near the Moulin Rouge."

By now, they had crossed to the other side of the Seine, and found themselves near the colonial pavilions. Kanté quieted when a large group of fair-goers came near to them, and the pair dawdled near the Algerian pavilion while they waited for the group to pass.

"Have you ever been to Algeria?" Adrien asked conversationally as they waited.

"No," Kanté said. "Have you?"

"Once," Adrien said. At that, Kanté seemed genuinely surprised. "This architecture is actually quite accurate."

"Indeed?" Kanté asked. "And what of these men, with their camels and their costumes? Is that accurate as well?"

But by now they were alone again, and so Kanté promptly returned to business before Adrien had a chance to answer. "This Noor ad-Din wears a purple carnation pinned to his suit," he said, "which is how you will know that it is him."

"An interesting fashion choice," Adrien remarked dryly. "Thank you for this information."

He turned to go, but Kanté stopped him before he could leave. "I wasn't finished yet," he said. "They say—and this is only a rumor, mind you—that he is trying to sell a very unique jade bracelet."

Adrien's eyes widened, and Kanté continued, quietly warning him, "Be careful, though. These men are very dangerous."

"Thank you for your help," Adrien said again.

Kanté shook his head slightly. "Try not to get killed," he cautioned Adrien, before finally departing.

Ladybug returned in the evening, as promised. She was waiting for him already when Adrien entered the abandoned cabaret, and she had a very serious look.

"My contact confirmed that the Collector is in possession of the jade bracelet," she began without preamble, "and that he's currently looking for a buyer."

"Well," said Adrien slowly, "I think we might be the buyers."

Adrien quickly recounted what he had learned from Kanté, with with every passing word Ladybug grew more and more concerned. When Adrien suggested that they go seek out this Noor ad-Din at the Moulin Rouge, she grew quite agitated.

"Your smuggler friend is correct," said Ladybug. "These men are incredibly dangerous."

"But how else are we supposed to get any answers?" countered Adrien. "We have to at least try."

" _I_ can try," Ladybug said, "but I'm not about to let _you_ get yourself killed over this."

At that, Adrien smiled wryly. "My dear Ladybug," he said fondly, "I could just as easily throw your own words back at you. Do you really expect me to stay behind while you're out there risking your life?"

Ladybug's mouth twisted into a grimace, and after a moment of contemplation, she sighed heavily. "Very well, then," she acquiesced; "we shall go together."

They did indeed go together, walking side by side to the Moulin Rouge, which was only a few minute's walk away from their abandoned cabaret. But, instead of heading towards the entrance, Ladybug held back, scoping out the site from afar.

"Shouldn't we go in?" Adrien asked.

"I work better from the shadows," said Ladybug. "And if our man is really here, he'll have to come out sooner or later."

Fortunately, it was much sooner rather than later. After only a quarter of an hour, a small Levantine man emerged from the building. Pinned to his suit was a purple carnation, exactly as Kanté had described. He was accompanied by another man, probably twice his height and easily three or four times as heavy. Together they made quite the pair, and Ladybug immediately noticed them.

"The small one is probably our Noor ad-Din," she said. "And the large one..."

She trailed off, prompting Adrien to ask, "Do you recognize him?"

"He must be the one they call the Gorilla," Ladybug said slowly. "I've never met him in person, but I've heard rumors..." She glanced up at Adrien, and he could see that she had gone rather pale. "They say he's quite close to the Collector."

"And?" Adrien prompted, sensing that there was more that Ladybug was not telling him.

"They say the Collector cut out his tongue," Ladybug continued wanly, "so that he wouldn't be able to betray any of his secrets."

Adrien lifted both of his eyebrows at that. "I would think that cutting someone's tongue out wouldn't do much to inspire loyalty," he muttered.

But Ladybug shook her head. "He has power over men," she explained, "ways of controlling them, even if they have every reason to hate him."

"You mean... some kind of mind control?" Adrien asked skeptically.

"If you're superstitious," Ladybug said. "But there are plenty of other ways to control men. Blackmail, hostages, bribes..."

She trailed off, and they both watched as the pair began walking down the road to the east. "So," Adrien said, "shall we approach them?"

"Perhaps we should just watch," Ladybug offered tentatively, "to see where they go."

But by now, they had been spotted by Noor ad-Din, and he was watching them nervously. "Too late for that, I think," Adrien said.

Then he stepped forward. "Hello!" he called out. "Would you happen to be M. Noor ad-Din?"

The smaller man squinted at him in the dark. "Do I know you?" he asked nervously. "You look quite familiar."

"Are you sure about this?" Ladybug murmured quietly, just loud enough that Adrien could hear.

"As certain as I reasonably can be," Adrien said to her. Then he turned back to Noor and said, more loudly, "I hear you're selling something very interesting. A jade bracelet, with some very unique properties?"

To Adrien's great surprise, Noor reached into his coat, and removed a bundle of cloth. "I am," he said. He peeled back a corner of the cloth, just enough to reveal the relic nestled within. "What are you offering for it?"

"How did you obtain it?" Adrien asked.

Noor glanced around anxiously. The streets were crowded with people now, full of others departing from the Moulin Rouge, though none of them were paying particular attention to their meeting. "We don't have time for this," he said nervously. "Do you have the money or not?"

But Adrien pressed on. "How do I know that's not a fake?" When Noor had no reply, Adrien asked, "Where did you get it? Who are you working with?"

Something in Noor's expression shifted, and Adrien winced. He realized at once that he had gone to far, and Noor began slowly backing away. Adrien never had been particularly good at lying, and this kind of undercover work was decidedly not his forte.

"Are you a police officer?" Noor asked, his voice hollow and low.

"No!" Adrien said quickly. But that only seemed to startle Noor more. "No, I'm not... technically a police officer."

"I never wanted this," Noor said quickly. He looked truly frightened now. "This wasn't my choice."

"What wasn't?" Ladybug asked, speaking up for the first time.

But Noor was still shaking his head. "Gorilla!" he called out suddenly. "Do something!"

"Oh dear," Ladybug said softly.

Adrien had never been much for fisticuffs. Though he was by no means inexperienced, this "Gorilla" was a monster of a man, and Adrien doubted that he would be able to hold his own against him. He stared in blank panic as Noor's companion rushed at him until, at the last moment, he realized that he should try to dodge.

The Gorilla was large, but he had in strength he lacked in speed and agility. Adrien darted under his swinging fists and dashed after Noor's fleeing form. A gasp rose up from the crowds around them, but Adrien did not spare any time for the gawking passers-by.

"Stop!" Adrien shouted after Noor. "We're just trying to help—"

But Ladybug reached Noor first. Out of seemingly nowhere, she leapt atop Noor and tackled him to the ground. Someone nearby screamed aloud, and Adrien skidded to a stop.

"I'll be taking this," Ladybug said pleasantly, as she easily plucked up the bundle of cloth that contained Fu's stolen bracelet. Then she glanced over at Adrien. She smiled fondly at his shocked expression, and then said, "Duck."

"What?"

"DUCK!" Ladybug commanded. Adrien automatically obeyed, crouching low to the ground, and Ladybug seized Noor, lifting him bodily over one of her shoulders. With surprising strength for a woman so small, she hurled Noor over Adrien's head, and with a thud Noor collided with the Gorilla.

Adrien glanced over his shoulder, watching in awe as both men fell backwards in a sprawling heap.

"Come on, no time to gawp!" Ladybug said. She grabbed Adrien by one wrist and began hauling him away.

"Shouldn't we—shouldn't we do something about them?" Adrien asked.

But Ladybug continued tugging at him until they reached a sprint. "Too many witnesses," she said. "It could get messy fast, and besides, we already got what we came for."

After a a minute or so of sprinting, Ladybug slowed their pace to a light jog, and within a few minutes she was confident that they had lost any potential followers.

"Well," Adrien said, heaving for breath. "That didn't go as planned."

"Unfortunately, it did not," Ladybug agreed. She slowed their pace to a walk, and released her grip on Adrien's hand. In her other hand, she was still clutching the bundle of cloth that she had stolen from Noor. She pulled back the cloth to reveal the jade bracelet within, and delicately she teased it out of its wrappings.

"So much bloodshed over something so small," Ladybug murmured. She held the bracelet in her hand for a moment longer, then hesitantly slipped it onto her wrist. She held up her arm and admired the glittering jade beads for a moment.

"I don't feel any different," she remarked quietly.

"It's... not _really_ magic, right?" Adrien asked.

"Of course not," Ladybug agreed quickly. She slipped the bracelet off. "I'll deliver this to the Chinese ministry. They'll make sure that it gets back to Li Fu's family."

"We're still no closer to finding the Collector," Adrien pointed out. There was no masking the disappointment in his tone.

But Ladybug did not seem bothered. "We're one step closer," she said optimistically. "We know a little more now than we did yesterday. Sometimes that's all you can ask for."

She pocketed both the bracelet and the scrap of cloth, and then moved to leave. "Well, see you next week, Adrien," she said pleasantly.

"Next week?" Adrien asked. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Well, yes," Ladybug said. "So we can continue our work. Unless you were planning on halting your investigation...?"

Adrien stared blankly for a moment, mouth slightly ajar, unsure of whether he had heard Ladybug correctly or not. She was still looking expectantly at him, and eventually he found his voice again.

"Yes, of course," he said. "Next week."

Ladybug smiled kindly at him, and then slipped away into the darkness.


	8. Catastrophe in the Catacombs

Ladybug came to visit again on Saturday, as promised, and then again on the Saturday after that. They quickly fell into a routine: each week, Ladybug climbed carefully into the abandoned cabaret just after sunset, and she and Adrien would sit together, talking and planning, until it was indecently late. Then she would slip away again, silent as a shadow, and disappear back into her other life.

Often, she brought the items that she had stolen to their meetings—seemingly unimportant baubles and trinkets that glittered in the lamplight. The first week she showed him a silver hand mirror, so small that it fit comfortably in her palm. Later she brought an Egyptian scarab, and then a Spanish guitar.

She sat with the guitar in her lap, haphazardly plucking a few strings. But Ladybug was no musician, and it was clear that the instrument was wildly out of tune. She fiddled with the pegs, trying to get each string to the right key, but eventually she gave up and set the instrument aside.

"I wonder what's so special about it," she mused aloud.

Adrien reached over and tried his own hand at tuning the instrument. He'd never played a Spanish guitar before, but the instrument wasn't so different from a violoncello, and in short time he had it tuned acceptably—though perhaps not _quite_ correctly. He tried a few experimental chords on the instrument, and then plucked out a few lines of Satie's _Gymnopédies_.

"Impressive," Ladybug said. "You are a man of many talents."

"Quite the contrary," Adrien said with a small smile. "I've no musical talent whatsoever. Years of practice and expensive tutors, however, can buy anyone basic proficiency in an instrument."

"I see," Ladybug said. "Perhaps I should just leave the guitar with you, then, so that you may practice more."

Adrien laughed and passed the instrument back to her. "Whatever happened to returning stolen items to their rightful owners?"

But Ladybug shook her head sadly. "There's no one left to return it to," she said. She played out a few notes herself, gently plucking at the strings with her thumb, with no real intention or melody.

"Do you ever wonder if you're doing the right thing?" Adrien asked. Ladybug glanced up at him, the question evident in her eyes, and he quickly continued. "I mean—not everyone realizes that they're purchasing stolen property."

"That is irrelevant," Ladybug said.

"Is it?" Adrien asked. "You know, you've stolen from my father before. Old jewelry that had sentimental value to our family. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Ladybug was quiet for a moment. "I don't recall stealing from your father," she said slowly. "But I suppose I probably did. And while I am sorry to have hurt you, whatever I stole from your family was never meant to be yours."

Then, setting the instrument aside again, she said, "Now, why don't we get down to business?"

She produced a square of paper from her pocket, then unfolded it and smoothed it out on the floor in front of her. Adrien leaned forward and saw that it was a map, painstakingly drawn by hand. It had been done in a mixture of ink, pencil, and charcoal, with notes added in several different handwritings. What it was supposed to be a map of, however, Adrien could not discern.

"These are the tunnels and catacombs underneath Paris," Ladybug explained, "as best I know them."

"Impressive," said Adrien.

"Three weeks ago," Ladybug continued, "an old man passed on in Le Marais. There was nothing unusual about the circumstances of his death, except that one of his most valued possessions, a mechanical bird call, went mysteriously missing afterward."

"That certainly sounds like the Collector."

"Indeed," Ladybug agreed. "Two nights ago, my contact discovered a very similar bird call in the possession of one Xavier Ramier, who lives in the Latin Quarter." Ladybug pointed to the location on the map. "Once upon a time, the Communards used this house as one of their strongholds. And although those days are long past, there's still an entrance to the catacombs in his basement."

"Is this how you've been sneaking into all those guarded mansions?" Adrien asked. "Secret catacomb tunnels?"

"Occasionally," Ladybug said. "Though most people, as I'm sure you'll understand, do _not_ have secret entrances to the catacombs in their basements."

She returned her attention to the map. "Normally, I would do this alone," she said. "But Ramier keeps a locked door at the entrance."

"Understandable," Adrien granted.

"The door is too strong for me to force open," Ladybug continued, "and I've no talent for lock-picking. Do you think you can open it?"

"Well," Adrien said, "I've yet to find a lock that I wasn't able to open, one way or another."

"Excellent," Ladybug said. She laid out the rest of the plan, showing him where they would meet and how they would enter the tunnels, and they agreed to meet at dusk the next evening to carry out the heist.

Ladybug's chosen catacomb entrance was located in what appeared to be a small, nondescript shed near the Luxembourg Gardens. Adrien met her there at the agreed upon time and she ushered him in. The supposed shed was left unlocked and housed no equipment; the only thing to be found inside was a steep, narrow staircase to the catacombs below.

Ladybug led the way down, holding a lantern up in front of her. As they descended lower and the lower, the tunnels grew darker, and Adrien began to feel slightly uneasy.

"These tunnels are safe, aren't they?" he asked a little nervously.

"Safe enough," Ladybug said. "They've been known to collapse occasionally, and every now and again someone falls down an old mine shaft, but for the most part they're quite sturdy." She glanced back at Adrien, and saw that he still looked concerned. "Have you ever been in the catacombs, M. Detective?" she asked.

"A few times," Adrien admitted. "When we were younger, Alya would host secret underground parties in the tunnels near our school."

Ladybug laughed a little at that. "I find that eminently believable," she said.

"I thought it was dreadful," Adrien continued, "always worrying about whether the ceiling would come down on our heads, or if something might block up our exit. But other people seemed to enjoy them. Or, at least, they kept going to them."

The stairs ended in an equally narrow passage, barely wide enough for one person to walk in, and they fell into silence again. Ladybug navigated the tunnels confidently, pausing occasionally at spots where the path branched and split, and Adrien followed after, ducking his head frequently to avoid scraping against the shallow ceiling. After five or so minutes of this, they emerged into a large, open room.

Six separate tunnels all converged into the circular space. Ladybug, after briefly consulting her map, led them down the path immediately to their right. From there, it was only a quick trip until they reached the ladder that led up to M. Ramier's basement.

At the top of the ladder was a platform just large enough for a person to stand on, and a locked steel door, as Ladybug had said there would be. Fumbling slightly in the dim light, Adrien set to work immediately. It was a fairly simple lock to pick, only three pins, but Ladybug was nonetheless impressed.

Once the door was open, she quickly slipped past him, passing the lantern off to him as she did. "Stay here," she whispered to him. "I'll be back soon."

"Are you sure?" Adrien asked uncertainly.

Ladybug smiled kindly at him. "Trust me," she said, "I know what I am doing."

It was true: she did know what she was doing. Ladybug returned not even ten minutes later, with her prize in hand. She held it up for Adrien to see before secreting it away in a padded pouch, which she then hung around her neck. Then it was just a quick descent back into the catacombs, and they were safely escaped from M. Ramier's residence.

"Well," Ladybug said, "that went very smoothly."

"It did," Adrien agreed. "I must say, Marie, we make an excellent team." After a brief pause, he followed this up by asking, "May I call you Marie?"

He glanced over his shoulder, and found that Ladybug was frowning at him. "I'd prefer it if you didn't," she said. "I hate the name Marie." Upon seeing Adrien's puzzled expression, she elaborated. "It's just so bland! And common, too—half the women in Paris are named Marie."

"Do you prefer to go by Marielle?" Adrien asked. When Ladybug did not reply, he guessed again, "Marion? Perhaps Marise?"

"None of those," she said.

"Not Manon, surely?"

"Just call me Ladybug," she said.

"All right then, Ladybug," Adrien said. "We make an excellent team." He held up their lamp a little higher, illuminating the path ahead of them, as they came once more to the large, open room. "This was much easier than—"

But before Adrien had the chance to finish his thought, the floor jolted violently beneath his feet, and he fell abruptly silent. He came to a stop, reaching out with one hand to steady himself against the nearest wall, as the earth trembled and groaned beneath his feet.

"What's going on?" Ladybug asked nervously.

The rumbling grew more violent. The ceiling above, ominously, began raining limestone dust down upon them as the tunnels buckled and threatened to collapse. Adrien stumbled towards Ladybug, seizing her by the arm and pressing them both against the wall. The lamp fell out of his hand, hitting the ground with a clang and then rolling away. Adrien hissed in pain as he was struck by several falling rocks from the ceiling above, and pressed closer to Ladybug, doing his best to shield her from the debris.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, the quaking stopped.

The stillness afterward was uncanny. "Are you all right?" Ladybug asked. Her voiced echoed eerily in the cavern.

"Just a few bumps and bruises," Adrien said. "Are you?"

Ladybug didn't answer him. Instead, she quietly asked, "What was that?"

"Felt like an earthquake," Adrien said. He backed away slowly from Ladybug and then knelt to recover their fallen lamp.

"An earthquake, in Paris?" Ladybug asked. The disbelief was clear in her tone. "That's ridiculous. We don't have earthquakes in Paris. Earthquakes happen in Italy, or the mountains, not—not _here._ "

"Small earthquakes can happen anywhere," Adrien offered, "and very big ones can be felt from very far away."

He lifted their lantern again, and grimaced at the sight before them. Though the cavern remained largely intact, part of the ceiling on the western edge had collapsed—blocking both the tunnel that they'd entered through and their intended escape route.

"Oh no," Ladybug breathed aloud.

Adrien glanced over his shoulder, back at the four other tunnels that were still unblocked. "There must be another exit through one of these tunnels, right?" he asked softly.

"Yes," Ladybug said quickly, as she fumbled for her map, "but I don't know them as well."

Adrien stepped nearer to her, holding the lantern between them, and they both studied the map carefully. Frankly, he had a hard time understanding any of the markings on the paper, but Ladybug seemed to be able to decipher it somehow. She pointed with one hand to the tunnel furthest to their left and said, "That way, I think, will take us out."

She folded up her map again and, after taking the lantern back from Adrien, started off. Adrien followed closely after her.

This passage, unlike the ones they had traveled through earlier, was wider and shallower. Ladybug stepped quickly, her footsteps echoing loudly against the walls. Though the tunnel was still intact, the ground was littered with debris, and Adrien privately worried that the tunnel may yet collapse atop them.

But it turned out that Adrien was worrying about the wrong direction. As they continued to walk, the ground changed from solid limestone to something notably less sturdy, and it began to crackle menacingly beneath Ladybug's feet.

Carefully, she slowed to a stop.

She lowered her lantern closer to the ground, and revealed a deep pit in the tunnel ahead of them. It must have collapsed during the earthquake, and the ground at the edge of the pit was marred with cracks, crumbling and threatening to collapse as well.

"Oh," Ladybug said suddenly. "Oh dear."

The ground shifted menacingly beneath her feet, but she didn't dare move. She turned to Adrien in a panic, her eyes hugely wide, and he slowly reached out to her. The ground where he was still standing, at least, was a little more solid.

"It's fine," Adrien said, as reassuringly as he could manage. Their fingertips touched, and he dared to edge a little closer, until he could grasp her wrist. "Just a few steps this way, you'll be all right."

Ladybug nodded her head just slightly, and she took one careful step in his direction. But as soon as she stepped, the ground under her feet finally gave out, and with a shriek she began to fall. Adrien tightened his grip on her arm, and though the force of her fall yanked him off of his feet, the drop was gradual enough that he managed to stay on semi-stable ground. In the end, he found himself hanging halfway out of the gorge, with Ladybug clinging to his arm below. The lantern which she had been holding slipped out of her grip and fell all the way to bottom, where it shattered and went dark.

The bottom of the pit, Adrien could tell, was a very, _very_ long way below.

"Oh, dear God," Ladybug gasped out. Her grip on his arm was so tight that it was becoming painful. "Don't you _dare_ drop me."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Adrien said. Very cautiously, he tried to crawl backwards away from the ledge, pulling Ladybug up with him. Though she was not particularly heavy, the angle made it quite difficult to pull her back up.

Ladybug's nails were digging into his flesh now. "Please get me back up there," she begged him, in an uncharacteristically desperate way. " _Please_. I'm terrified of heights."

Adrien, given the circumstances, probably should not have found that as amusing as he did. " _You_ , scared of heights?" he asked incredulously. "But you're always scaling buildings and climbing around on rooftops."

"That's different," Ladybug said tersely. "I'm in control when I—" she cut off abruptly when Adrien's grip slipped slightly on her wrist, as he was trying to haul her up. " _I thought you weren't going to drop me!_ " she hissed.

"I won't," Adrien promised. He tightened his grip on her again and, with another heave, managed to get her high enough that she could grasp the ledge with her free hand. From there, she mostly pulled herself back up, though she didn't let go of his hand. Only once they had dragged themselves back a safe distance from the ledge did she release his arm—and only then so that she could wrap both of her arms firmly around his waist, clinging to him tightly.

"That was awful," she mumbled into his chest. "I think I'm going to vomit."

"Surely it wasn't so bad?" Adrien offered, as reassuringly as he could manage. He was unused to seeing Ladybug express uncertainty—or fear, for that matter—and so he awkwardly patted her shoulder.

Ladybug made a quiet grumbling noise that Adrien assumed was meant to indicate her disagreement. "You know," he continued, "Nadja Chamack mentioned that you were scared of heights. At the time I don't think I quite believed her."

"Well, now you know better," Ladybug muttered. She sounded calmer now, but she did not pull away from Adrien. "This is terrible," she said glumly. "I've never had such rotten luck in my entire life!"

"Well, we're still alive," said Adrien optimistically, "so at least there's that."

"We're still alive," Ladybug said, "but trapped in absolute darkness, in underground tunnels that are collapsing all around us, and no idea of how to escape."

Very gently, Adrien disentangled himself from Ladybug, and staggered up to his feet. With one hand, he reached out towards the wall and with the other he helped Ladybug up. Once she was standing again, he intertwined his fingers with her own.

"I'm sure we can still find a way out of here," he said. He began walking carefully forward, taking very slow steps, with one hand still against the wall. He didn't want to fall into another surprise pit, particularly now that they didn't even have any light to illuminate the path before them.

"Come on," he said, tugging gently on Ladybug's hand. "There must be another exit."

Slowly, she crept forward with him. "How can you be so calm about this?" she asked. "For all you know, the earthquake could have collapsed all the other tunnels too."

"I doubt it," he said. They continued creeping forward at a snail's pace, each step slow and cautious. "There are too many tunnels, and the earthquake wasn't nearly strong enough to collapse all of them."

"And how would you even know?" Ladybug asked. Her voice had now regained some of its usual confidence. "Have you ever even been in an earthquake before?"

"Indeed I have," Adrien replied. "Twice, in Algeria."

"Algeria?" Ladybug asked, clearly surprised. "What on earth were you doing there?"

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"I promise," Ladybug agreed, though she still sounded quite confused.

"I was deployed there," Adrien explained, "when I was in the army."

Ladybug, despite her promise, immediately burst into laughter. "You promised you wouldn't laugh!" chided Adrien, but in truth he was smiling too.

"I'm sorry," Ladybug said, quickly stifling her giggles. "It's just— _you,_ a military man? You hardly seem the type."

"I'm not," he admitted. "I was conscripted. And frankly, I made for a terrible soldier. But fortunately for me, the generals were too busy dealing with politics and scandal to start any wars during my three years, and so I escaped unscathed."

They had emerged now back into the wide open room. Adrien, keeping his hand upon the wall to his right, crept along the perimeter of the cavern until they reached the next unblocked tunnel. This was one that they had yet to explore, and so Adrien stepped into it with extra care.

"A conscript," Ladybug murmured. Though Adrien still could not see her, it sounded like she was shaking her head. "Isn't your father one of the most wealthy and powerful men in Paris? Couldn't he have bribed some official or another to get you an exemption?"

"He could have," Adrien acknowledged. "It's what he wanted to do, in fact."

"Why not, then?"

"It wouldn't have been fair." Adrien shrugged one shoulder before realizing that Ladybug wouldn't be able to see the gesture in the dark. "Not that my father liked hearing that. We fought about it for weeks. It was probably the biggest fight we've ever had in my entire life." After a moment's pause, he added, "Sometimes I worry that he's still angry about it."

Ladybug said nothing, but gently squeezed his fingers. They continued in silence, carefully navigating the narrow corridor, until the tunnel began to curve. Adrien adjusted his path, though it was still so completely black that he couldn't see anything, not even the faintest shadow.

"So," he continued amiably, "what's your story?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why all of... this?" Adrien asked. "The mask, the secrecy, the calling cards?"

"You're the detective," Ladybug said. "You tell me."

"All right," Adrien said. Again, the tunnel turned its path, so he hesitated before beginning, focused for a moment on the careful placement of each of his steps. "Your name is Marie Dupain," he eventually said.

"Yes, we've been over that already."

"You prefer to go by Marietta?"

"I'm not answering that," Ladybug said, though Adrien could clearly hear the smile in her voice.

"Oh well," Adrien said. "I thought it was worth a try." After a moment's consideration, he continued, "You are—or were, I suppose—an apprentice flower maker."

"I was," Ladybug said, "but I completed my apprenticeship last summer. I'm a full-fledged flower maker now—or I would be, I suppose, if I wasn't so busy with all of this sneaking around."

"Interesting," Adrien said, though in truth he wasn't quite sure what to make of that nugget of information.

They came now to a sharp turn—or perhaps a diverging path. Adrien scuttled along slowly, still following the wall. "Your parents were bakers," he said next, "and they died last year. Killed by the Collector?"

"Correct," Ladybug confirmed flatly.

"He took something from you," Adrien continued. "A precious family heirloom?"

"Not so precious, honestly," Ladybug murmured.

"But important to you," Adrien continued. "Something... ladybug-themed?"

"You _are_ clever," Ladybug said. "Yes, a pair of earrings. Red carnelians, fashioned into the shape of tiny ladybugs."

Her grip on Adrien's hand tightened when she stumbled slightly over the uneven ground, but she regained her balance quickly. "They're honestly not very valuable," she added, "and I never even liked them. But I can't stand the thought of that _vile_ man getting away with what he did."

"Hence the cards," Adrien guessed.

"Yes. It's a lovely little game of cat-and-mouse we've been playing, leaving coded messages for one another."

"And what about the mask?" Adrien asked.

"What about it?"

"You never take it off," Adrien said, "even when it's just the two of us. Do you distrust me?"

"No," Ladybug said quietly. "No, of course not. You held my very life in yours hands not even an hour ago." She let out a soft huff of laughter, then added, "Frankly, you might be the one person I trust most of all."

"Then why?"

Ladybug was quiet for so long that Adrien was beginning to think that she wouldn't answer him. But eventually she said, in a very somber voice, "My enemies—the Collector and his men—are out there looking for me. I know you wouldn't betray me willingly, but that wouldn't stop them from trying to drag it out of you screaming. It's just too risky."

Adrien felt a slight chill. "Do you really think they'd do that?" he asked quietly.

"I know they would," Ladybug said seriously. "What do you think happened to poor Nathaniel?"

The chill turned into a full-fledged shudder. That revelation left him brimming with questions, but before Adrien had a chance to form a reply, Ladybug stopped in place. Adrien stilled as well. "What is it?" he asked nervously. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she said. "Look."

Adrien did, and discovered that the tunnel was just barely illuminated, bright enough that he could make out the shadowy form of Ladybug standing next to him. "There's an exit," she said, "somewhere close."

They moved a little more quickly then, with Ladybug taking the lead, and in a matter of minutes she located a ladder that led up and out of the catacombs. She climbed up first, scaling the distance with impressive speed, and Adrien followed more slowly after, as his arms began to ache from the climb.

They eventually reached ground level, emerging from a sewer drain near the Sorbonne. The world aboveground looked quite normal; if the Latin Quarter had suffered any damage in the small earthquake, it certainly wasn't evident. Ladybug laughed out loud, clearly pleased to be back above ground, and Adrien knelt to replace the sewer grate.

When he stood again, Ladybug seized one of his hands in her own. "That was absolutely dreadful," she said. "I'm never going on a mission with you again."

"Come on, now," Adrien protested, though he was smiling. "I saved your life back there."

"True," Ladybug conceded, "but that was a disaster, start to finish. I'm convinced that you're nothing but bad luck!"

She was smiling too, and Adrien realized that they were standing very close. It was no more intimate than they had been underground, but up here, illuminated by the moon and the stars and the electric streetlights, the distance seemed much smaller.

Ladybug must have realized as well, for she abruptly stepped back from him, pulling her hands away. "Ah, well," she said quickly, "should you—I should—"

"We should both go home," Adrien said. "It's quite late."

"Yes," Ladybug said quickly. She reached for the pouch containing the bird whistle, to check that it was still with her, and then she began to leave, taking quick, purposeful strides down the street.

"Goodnight, Marie," Adrien called after her. "I mean—Ladybug. Goodnight, Ladybug."

Ladybug hesitated at a nearby corner.

"You know, it doesn't half bad when you say it," she said slowly. But then she quickly added, "I would still prefer to be called Ladybug, though."

Adrien watched her until she disappeared from his sight, making no effort to conceal a fond smile. Then he trudged back to his own home and went promptly to bed.

He slept in late the next morning, well past dawn, and even after he arose he was idle and unproductive. He lounged around in his home, occasionally attempting to do work, but finding this thoughts often distracted from it.

Alya telephoned him around noon. She had by now heard of Ladybug's latest heist, and she gleefully regaled him with all the details. Adrien smiled into the receiver and listened to her patiently, all the while neglecting to mention his involvement to Alya.

"Oh, and there was something _most_ peculiar about this one!" Alya said. "She left a different card this time. It was printed on white paper, and with her usual ladybug signature, but this time with a black cat as well! What do you make of that?"

What indeed! Adrien had not known that Ladybug changed her card, but he found that he was quite pleased to hear about it.

To Alya, he said, "Perhaps she has a partner now?"

"A partner!" Alya clucked her tongue. "The mystery deepens. I wonder who it could be?"


	9. The Midnight Masquerade

At Adrien and Ladybug's next meeting, he broached the matter of her updated calling card.

"Well," said Ladybug, "if we're going to be doing this together from now on, I thought you deserved at least some of the credit. Or the blame, as it may be."

"And why a cat?" Adrien inquired. "Surely a second ladybug would have been more appropriate."

"Heavens, no!" Ladybug said, though she was smiling. " _I_ am the mysterious thief known as Ladybug. You need your own identity."

"But why a cat?" Adrien asked.

Ladybug smiled slyly at him. "Why indeed?" she quipped.

Her eyes twinkled in a way that made Adrien think that she knew something that he did not. But before he had the chance to ask, Ladybug grew serious. "As for the matter of the Collector," she continued, "I still have no leads."

"What about the others?" Adrien asked.

Ladybug shook her head. "I have no leads on the Gorilla either," she said. "And the Butterfly, or Noor ad-Din, or whatever his name may be, has vanished quite thoroughly. Every time I think I might have some information on him, it ends up leading nowhere. I think he may even have left the city."

Adrien grimaced. "We could still try surveilling the Moulin Rouge," he suggested.

"Again?" Ladybug seemed skeptical. "We've already tried that three times, and nothing to show for it."

"But he's bound to return eventually, isn't he?"

Ladybug rolled her eyes, but she acquiesced. "Fine," she said. "We'll try again on Saturday, then?"

But Adrien, regretfully, shook his head. "I can't," he said. "There's someplace else I need to be on Saturday evening."

Ladybug tilted her head to one side in an unspoken question, and so Adrien elaborated. "André Bourgeois is hosting a masquerade ball," he explained. "I've never much cared for balls, but he's something of an old family friend. It would be rude if I didn't at least make an appearance."

"Poor thing!" Ladybug said sarcastically. "Dragged away to a fancy dinner party, when you'd rather be lazing around in cabarets and consorting with thieves."

"You should come with me," Adrien joked. "Then I can consort with thieves in plain view of everyone."

Ladybug tilted her head slightly to one side and contemplated his words. "I'd love to," she eventually said. When she saw his surprised expression, she quickly amended, "I mean—if you wanted—it's a masquerade, you know—"

"I—yes," Adrien said quickly. He had invited her in jest, not expecting her to be seriously interested, but he was delighted to be proven wrong. "I would love that—if you would like to, I mean. That would be wonderful."

There was a certain softness in Ladybug's eyes as she smiled up at him. "All right then," she said. "I suppose I'm going to the ball with you."

Adrien stared blankly at her for a moment, not sure whether to believe her or not. "Where should I pick you up?" he finally asked.

Ladybug glanced about the room. "Here is fine," she said. "Now, about this Moulin Rouge plan..."

Ladybug continued to talk very seriously about their work, but Adrien found himself distracted for the rest of the evening. Indeed, he was distracted for the rest of the week—so much so that Alya started testing his temperature with the back of her hand against his forehead, and clucking suspiciously when she could find nothing wrong with him.

On the day of M. Bourgeois's masquerade, Adrien rented a cab and dutifully arrived at the designated location. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped forward and knocked twice on the door, ignoring the odd looks he was gathering from the driver.

Ladybug emerged from the building with so much panache that for a moment Adrien forgot that they were standing in front of an abandoned cabaret. Though her normal attire was thoroughly practical and plain, tonight she wore a dazzling gown made of red satin. The cut of the dress was exquisite, as though it had been personally tailored for her, and the fabric draped and pleated over her form in a very flattering way. She had swapped out her mask as well. In place of her usual one was a beautiful, bright red half-mask, adorned with sequins and miniature rose petals.

Adrien found himself staring, and Ladybug smiled prettily at him.

"Well?" she asked. She lifted her arms slightly and did a quick twirl. "Do you think I'll blend in at the masquerade?"

"Not at all," Adrien said seriously. "I'm afraid you'll outshine them all."

"What a flirt you are!" Ladybug scolded, though she hardly seemed upset.

She accepted his hand, and he helped her into the carriage. It was then only a short ride to the Place Vendôme, followed by a much longer wait to enter M. Bourgeois's hotel amid the crowds outside.

Inside, Bourgeois had decorated his hotel even more finely than usual. The ballroom was stunning, with its high vaulted ceilings and dangling crystal chandeliers, and crowded with masked men and women in all their beautiful finery. A quartet of musicians played a cheerful Tchaikovsky piece, and couples danced in rows on the floor.

Ladybug, who was normally so composed, looked absolutely dazzled at the sight. Her eyes were wide with wonder and she nearly tripped over her own feet, so unwilling was she to rip her eyes away from the splendor that was laid out before them.

Adrien found himself smiling fondly at the sight. "I take it you've never visited the Hôtel Bourgeois before," he said.

His words lifted Ladybug temporarily out of her reverie, and she looked down with a flush. "Never," she admitted. "At least, not properly. I _have_ broken into several guest rooms on the higher floors, though."

"That sounds about right."

They came to the dance floor near the end of a waltz. As the dancers bowed to their partners and began preparing for the next dance, Adrien turned to Ladybug and asked, "Do you know the mazurka?"

Ladybug giggled a little at that, hiding her mouth behind her hand. "The mazurka!" she exclaimed. "How quaint. I thought that you posh types only danced waltzes and quadrilles."

"Oh, we like to pretend that," Adrien responded without batting an eye, "but even we can't resist the allure of a good folk dance." He held out one gloved hand to her and asked again, "So? Can you mazurka?"

Ladybug gracefully accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. "Of course," she said. "And scottische and polka too."

They swept out into a spot on the ballroom floor, amid all the other couples. Adrien placed one hand on his hip and extended the other to Ladybug, who stood at his side. She smiled up at him with laughter in her eyes.

The mazurka was a very energetic sort of dance, full of strange half-skipping steps and heel clicks, and nothing at all like the stately waltzes that Adrien's father preferred. The music started up and Adrien and Ladybug took their first steps, galloping about the dance floor in a thoroughly undignified way. Ladybug, as she had said, proved a more than capable dancer, though Adrien was embarrassed to find that he stumbled over a few of the steps.

The measure ended, and they turned to face one another. Adrien reached to place his hand on her waist, but she turned left when he turned right, and they ended up bumping their shoulders against one another.

Ladybug giggled into her hand, and they quickly readjusted. "Oh dear," she said, as they started on the next steps of the dance, hopping rather awkwardly in a circle together. "Did I step on your foot?"

"No," Adrien said. But Ladybug could read the lie clearly on his face, and she laughed again.

They turned once more, so that they were now spinning the opposite direction, and this time managed to avoid stepping on any toes. "I must say," Ladybug said, "the mazurka is a much sillier dance than I remembered."

"I feel like an idiot," Adrien confessed as he stumbled through another _stomp-hop-step_.

"Well, I think it's fun," Ladybug said cheerfully.

She did look like she was enjoying herself. Her eyes shimmered with delight, and she laughed in such a pure, unguarded way that Adrien found himself smiling too. Ladybug—normally so serious, always focused on the work ahead of her—was more relaxed tonight than Adrien had ever seen her before. the sight made Adrien's heart feel light in his chest.

And then suddenly the dance was over, and the musicians were lowering their instruments. Adrien and Ladybug stood together for a moment, breathing rather heavily with faces flushed slightly red, before drawing apart.

"Would you like a drink?" Adrien asked, suddenly feeling very awkward.

"That sounds lovely," Ladybug said.

They retreated from the floor as couples began preparing for the next dance. Adrien made his way to the refreshments table while Ladybug lingered near the edge of the dance floor. By the time Adrien returned with two glasses of champagne, Ladybug was still waiting for him exactly where he'd left her, but her expression was no longer one of girlish delight.

She was clearly distracted now, and barely even noticed Adrien's approach. She narrowed her eyes at something in the far corner of the room, and Adrien followed her gaze, trying to discern what she was looking at.

"My lady?" Adrien asked.

Ladybug accepted the glass from him without looking, and drank half of it in a single gulp. "I think I might have a lead on something," she said distantly. "Remember that ruby brooch that disappeared from Saint-Denis two weeks ago?"

Adrien took another glance at the far corner, and spotted a petite woman dressed in a hideous yellow dress with cascading layers of tulle. Pinned to the front of the dress was a bright red brooch, adorned with two glittering red gems cut into the shape of a heart. It clashed horribly with the style of her gown, and the stark contrast of red against yellow made it easy to pick out.

Adrien turned back towards Ladybug. "Ah, I see. The true reason for your presence here becomes clear," he quipped. His tone was playful, but he couldn't help feeling a pang of genuine disappointment. "And here I'd been hoping that you'd come along just for the pleasure of my company!"

Ladybug rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "Of course I came to be with you. This is just... very fortuitous."

"Back to work, it seems," Adrien said ruefully. "Shall we go approach her?"

Ladybug shook her head. "Let me handle this," she said. She quickly downed the rest of her champagne and passed the glass back to Adrien. "You're wonderful, Adrien, but your face gives away your every thought."

It was true enough, Adrien supposed. Half-truths he could manage, but outright lying had never been his forte. As Ladybug swept away, moving expertly through the crowds, he called after her, "Good luck!"

She was so petite that he lost sight of her almost immediately, her head disappearing beneath a sea of taller people, though every now and again he would catch a flash of her bright red gown through the crowds. Adrien watched her a little wistfully, feeling somewhat disappointed in the direction his evening was going.

He was still looking after her when another voice cut through his distraction. "Adrien!" a girlish voice crooned. "What a wonderful surprise!"

Adrien turned to face the speaker. She was a young blonde woman, dressed in a shimmering silk ballgown the color of seafoam. Her turquoise mask was adorned with glittering rhinestones and bright blue feathers, and it concealed her face so thoroughly that Adrien did not immediately recognize her.

She plucked the second drink unabashedly out of his hand and took a sip from it. "I thought you hated these kinds of parties," she said, "but I'm glad you're here."

When Adrien still showed no signs of recognizing her, the woman reached up to her mask and lifted it briefly, so that he could see her face below. "It's me, Aurore."

"Oh," Adrien said. He felt his face heat up, and suddenly he felt embarrassed that he hadn't recognized her sooner. "How have you been?"

"Wonderful," she said. She took another slow sip from what was supposed to be Adrien's drink. "Did you know that Bourgeois hired a hypnotist for the evening?"

"A hypnotist?" Adrien asked in disbelief. He knew that Aurore was prone to dabbling in the occult, and that André Bourgeois often indulged in strange novelties, but he had never before heard of anyone hiring a mystic for entertainment at a ball. "That seems odd."

"Well, you know how André is," Aurore said, in the very dismissive way that the upper-class of Paris often spoke of M. Bourgeois. "But regardless, you simply _must_ see him." She grabbed Adrien by the hand and began dragging him away. "He's astounding, like nothing I've ever seen."

Adrien followed after her obediently, but was still rather puzzled. "A _hypnotist?_ " he asked again.

"I couldn't convince him to sell," Aurore blithely continued on, "but I know your father has more resources than I do, and this is too good an opportunity to pass up."

But Adrien was more confused than ever. "Sell what?" he asked, bewildered.

Aurore smiled at him. "You'll see what I mean soon enough," she said.

They had now arrived in a quieter room, away from the dancing, where young men and women loitered in the shadows and chattered amicably. In the center of the room was a dark tent, the likes of which you might find at a carnival or traveling sideshow. Over the entrance was a sign, with _The Mysterious Grimault_ written on it in flourished lettering.

"Save a dance for me later," Aurore said. She gave him a little push towards the tent and, somewhat reluctantly, Adrien entered.

Inside the tent it was dim and stuffy. The so-called _M_ _ysterious Grimault_ was seated at a table in the back, surrounded by flickering candles and sticks of incense. Grimault himself was masked, like the other ball-goers, but that was where all similarity ended. His outfit looked more like a costume than a suit, a hideous pastiche of pinks and greens made out of cheap linen.

"Welcome, monsieur," Grimault said. His voice was low and hoarse, and Adrien strained to hear him clearly. "You have come to me reluctantly tonight, I can tell, but I promise that there is no stagecraft or sleight of hand here." As if to illustrate his point, Grimault pulled back one of his sleeves slightly, to show Adrien that there was nothing up it. "The veil is very thin for me, and I promise that if you will allow it, I can read yours thoughts, open your mind, and peer into your future."

Adrien lifted a brow skeptically, and Grimault smiled. He gestured with one hand at a chair on the other side of the table.

"What do you say, M. Agreste?" Grimault asked. "Would you like your fortune told?"

Adrien narrowed his eyes slightly. "How did you know my name?" he asked.

"I know many things," Grimault said. "Take a seat, and perhaps I will tell you more."

Adrien slowly approached the table and sat down in front of him. "I thought you were a hypnotist," he said hesitantly.

"I am many things." Grimault set a deck of tarot cards on the table and began shuffle, leafing the cards together several times. Adrien eyed the deck uncertainly.

"You want to play cards?" he asked.

"Play?" Grimault scoffed. "No. These cards are imbued with a powerful magic. The ancient Egyptians used tarot for ritual and divination. Their symbology originates in the Kabbalah. These mere _playing cards_ , as you call them, are rife with potent deeper meaning, and they can be used for very powerful divination."

Adrien resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. It was the same sort of nonsense he had heard from Aurore on more than one occasion, and he considered getting up and leaving. But in one smooth motion, Grimault fanned the deck across the table and offered the cards to Adrien.

"You're skeptical, but why not give it a try?" he asked. "Pick a card, any card!"

After a moment's hesitation, Adrien reached out slowly to the deck. His fingers hovered momentarily over one card, but at the last moment he reached for a different one. He flipped it over onto the table and Grimault smiled thinly.

"The King of Swords," he said, "reversed."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

But Grimault declined to answer. "Pick two more," he said.

Adrien did, flipping over the Wheel of Fortune next, and the Ten of Swords after that. Grimault lined the cards up into a row and leaned over them, humming to himself.

He tapped on the first card with two fingers. "You don't get along well with your father, do you?"

"That's true enough," Adrien agreed reluctantly.

"He's a cold man," Grimault continued. "Forceful, opinionated... powerful."

"You're just guessing," said Adrien. He knew perfectly well the sorts of techniques that so-called psychics used to trick their customers, and so far he was thoroughly unimpressed by Grimault.

Grimault smiled tightly at that, as though he could guess exactly what Adrien was thinking. "Let me get more specific, then," he said. He leaned in closer, and continued in a dark voice, "Your father regards others with contempt. He abuses his power and schemes in dark corners. He's willing to do anything, no matter how evil, to obtain what he desires."

"I don't think so," Adrien said sharply. While it might be true that his father was cold, and perhaps even cruel at times, calling him _evil_ was a step too far. But Grimault paid him no heed.

"He mistreats his staff," Grimault continued, voice crescendoing. "He has a particular fondness for ballerinas. After your mother died, he didn't speak to you for a week. Even after that, he was never the same again."

Adrien felt a peculiar chill down his back. "I think you should stop," he said quietly.

"Why, I'm just getting started!" Grimault exclaimed. "He entirely forgot your fourteenth birthday. He'd like nothing more than to wring the neck of the woman you love."

By now, Adrien had heard quite enough. He stood up to leave, but Grimault raised one hand and snapped his fingers.

"Leaving already?" said Grimault. "But you haven't even let me hypnotize you yet! Aren't you feeling sleepy?"

As Grimault said the words, Adrien found himself hesitating. A brief feeling of exhaustion did come over him, and for a moment he considered sitting back down.

But then the drowsiness passed, and Adrien shook his head.

"No thank you, M. Grimault," he said. "I've had quite enough." Then he left the tent without another word.

Quite a bit more time had passed inside the tent than Adrien had realized. The loungers in the room outside were an entirely different set from the ones he had seen previously, and the evening had progressed from a dim twilight to full dark. Adrien, feeling suddenly disoriented, stumbled back towards the dance floor to look for Ladybug.

He found her quickly, or rather, she found him. She appeared by his elbow with no warning, and latched firmly onto his arm. Adrien was startled but she did not apologize, instead leaning in close to hiss near his ear, " _Where have you been?_ "

"Sorry," Adrien apologized. "I ran into an acquaintance, and I suppose I lost track of time."

But Ladybug was scarcely even listening to him. She pressed even closer against him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his arm, and cast another nervous glance over her shoulder.

"I don't think he noticed me," she muttered under her breath, just barely loud enough for Adrien to hear.

"Who hasn't noticed you?"

"Remember our friend from the Moulin Rouge?" Ladybug whispered.

Now Adrien was nervously glancing over his shoulder as well. "Noor ad-Din?"

"No, the other one," Ladybug said. "The Gorilla."

"He's here? You're sure it was him?"

"Even with a mask, he cuts a very recognizable figure," Ladybug said flatly. "I struck up a conversation with Mme Tulle over there, and I'm certain that her brooch is the one that was stolen last month. But I had to retreat before _he_ noticed me."

Adrien looked towards the crowd on the far side of the dance floor. It wasn't hard to spot the Gorilla. He was loitering off of the dance floor, near the entrance to the refreshments room. Though Adrien could not clearly see his eyes beneath his mask, he could tell that the man was carefully watching the other ball-goers, as though he were looking for someone in particular.

Ladybug was the one who finally spoke, giving voice to Adrien's fears. "I don't know if we can get past without him noticing us," she murmured. "I'd like to make another attempt to reclaim the brooch, but—"

She was interrupted by the sudden reappearance of Aurore Beauréal. Ladybug cut off abruptly in the middle of her sentence as Aurore made her way towards them, pushing through the crowds of people to come stand in front of Adrien.

"Oh, Adrien, how good to see you again," she said pleasantly. "We need another couple for the cotillion and—"

"We'd love to," Ladybug said quickly.

Adrien looked questioningly to her as Aurore led them out onto the dance floor. "He's not paying as much attention to the dancers," Ladybug explained in a low voice. "This way, we're more likely to get across the room without him noticing us."

The cotillion was a type of quadrille, a dance for four couples. Aurore led them to her group, situated near the center of the dance floor and Adrien quickly found himself in a circle of eight people, with Aurore on his left and Ladybug on his right. On the opposite side of the circle from him was a familiar figure, dressed in a fine suit that was more violet than black, and sporting an unmistakable grimace.

"Father?" Adrien asked uncertainly.

"Adrien," his father said dryly. "What an unexpected surprise." He looked pointedly from Adrien to Ladybug, and they both tensed slightly under his gaze.

But there was little time for idle chatter. The music started up and the dancers all linked their hands and began sashaying, first to the right and then to the left. Speaking quietly so that she would not be overheard, Ladybug murmured, "I don't understand what he was doing _here_ of all places."

"Who?" Adrien asked. He had been distracted by the unexpected appearance of his father, but Ladybug gave him a very pointed look and he quickly remembered whom she was referring to. "Oh, right," he said quickly.

"It just doesn't seem like his usual milieu," Ladybug continued.

She quieted as they broke the circle and performed the first exchange. Adrien traded partners with his father, and Ladybug danced away to the opposite side of the circle with the elder M. Agreste. Adrien dutifully danced the required measures with his new partner before they traded back.

"I took him for a hired hitman, not some rich fop," Ladybug continued, as if their conversation had never been interrupted.

Adrien pulled Ladybug close—perhaps even a bit closer than his dancing master would have considered appropriate. "What do you think he's doing here?"

"I don't know," Ladybug said. Her voice was low and dark. "I didn't—"

Their conversation was again interrupted as the group exchanged partners for a second time. Ladybug twirled under his arm and moved to the right, while Adrien turned left to catch Aurore's hand.

"So?" she asked enthusiastically. "Wasn't the hypnotist just as wonderful as I told you?"

"Yes, very wonderful," Adrien replied automatically, though he honestly had not enjoyed the experience at all. "But I'm still not sure I understand."

Aurore laughed prettily at that. "It was the cards," she explained. "I think it must be the strongest enchantment I've seen yet."

Aurore twirled away to the left, still laughing a little, and Adrien turned back around to face Ladybug.

"I didn't stay around long enough to find out," she said. "But I got a good look at the brooch, and I think with a bit more prodding I might be able to get some information out of her."

"Why would she want to wear a supposedly cursed brooch to a ball?" Adrien wondered aloud.

Ladybug made a very comical expression at him. "Why do wealthy idiots do anything?" Upon seeing Adrien's amused reaction, she quickly added, "Not that I think _you're_ an idiot of course."

They exchanged partners once again, and by the time Ladybug returned to him, she was all business once again. "He's moving," she said, gesturing ever so slightly with her head in the direction of the Gorilla. "I think I may have another opportunity to speak with Mme Tulle yet."

The dance concluded shortly after that. Adrien bowed first to Ladybug, then to Aurore, and tried to make as quick an escape as possible. He was stopped by his father, however, who reached out to set a hand on Adrien's arm and asked, "Adrien, were you going to introduce me to your lovely partner?"

Adrien turned to Ladybug, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to answer but in a moment of panic no words came out. He certainly couldn't introduce her as Ladybug, the notorious thief—but he couldn't very well introduce her as Marie Dupain either!

But Ladybug came valiantly to her own rescue. "Isn't the point of a masquerade to conceal one's identity, M. Agreste?" she said coyly.

His father inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the point. "Then you must come over for dinner some time," he said, "so that we may be properly introduced."

"I'd be delighted," Ladybug said pleasantly. "But you must excuse me now, for I'm feeling quite faint after that last dance."

"Of course, dear," Adrien said. "Do you need anything?"

"No," Ladybug said, "I'll be quite all right."

She winked secretly at him, and then departed with another curtsy, leaving behind Adrien and his father.

Adrien, knowing that his father could be quite nosy when the mood struck him, thought that it would be prudent to escort his father from the room while Ladybug worked on retrieving the brooch. Otherwise, Adrien feared that his father would be keeping one eye on her for the entire evening.

"It's rather stuffy in here," Adrien said casually. "What do you say we step outside for a moment?"

"That sounds lovely," his father said.

They found a nice terrace to stand on, fortunately devoid of any other people, and Adrien gratefully breathed in the cool air. He had scarcely noticed it before, but the ballroom was choked with the scent of people and their perfumes, and the fresh outdoor air was a relief. Adrien took a spot along the railing, and his father settled in beside him. The elder M. Agreste reached into his jacket for a matchbox and a cigarette.

"I must say, Adrien," his father began, "it is quite nice to see you here this evening. We've missed you at Sunday dinner for the past several weeks."

He lit a cigarette for himself, and offered Adrien one as well. Adrien declined it with a wave of his hand, and his father re-pocketed the box.

"I apologize," Adrien said. "I've been busy with work. But I'll be there tomorrow evening, I promise."

"And your lady friend, will she accompany you?" his father inquired.

"W-well," Adrien began nervously.

Adrien was still working on a fake excuse for why Ladybug would not be able to join them when a third man joined them out on the balcony. At first, Adrien paid the newcomer no attention. But something in his father's expression shifted, and he glanced again over his shoulder, and was startled when he recognized the man.

"Oh dear," he said weakly. It was something of an understatement.

They had been joined by none other than the Gorilla himself, and he did not look like he had come to them for a friendly chat. He curled his hands into big meaty fists, and approached Adrien and his father in slow, deliberate strides.

"What's the meaning of this?" his father demanded, in his usual haughty way. "How dare you—"

But he was cut off abruptly when the Gorilla punched him squarely in the jaw.

Adrien sprang to action at once, seizing the Gorilla by one of his great big arms and dragging him away from his father. "Hey!" he snapped.

The Gorilla wasted no time turning his attentions to Adrien. Adrien ducked beneath the first blow, but did not manage to dodge the second. There was a brief moment when he struggled to breathe, all the wind having been knocked thoroughly out of him, but he recovered enough to snap, "Run!" at his father.

His father did not hesitate to flee, scrambling up to the doorway and dashing inside. Adrien tried to follow, but the Gorilla struck him again, and he fell in a sprawling heap to the floor.

Immediately, he tried to get back up again, but he hissed in pain when he put weight on his left foot. He must have injured it when he fell. He eventually managed to pull himself into a crouch, and by that time, another man had joined them out on the terrace. Adrien saw his shoes first, then noticed the pink-and-green fabric of his pant legs.

"Grimault?" he asked aloud, surprised to see the mystic again.

He lifted one hand and snapped his fingers.

"I think you will find," he said ominously, "that you are growing _very sleepy_."

"What?" Adrien asked aloud, but his confusion lasted only for a moment before there was a sharp blow to the back of his head, and everything at once turned to darkness.


	10. A Vicious Vendetta

Adrien dreamt that he was back in Grimault's tent.

 _Aren't you feeling sleepy?_ he asked.

Adrien _was_ feeling sleepy. He turned back around to face Grimault but, in the way of dreams, the hypnotist was no longer there. There was nothing, in fact. The whole world went dark, and for a moment all Adrien could hear was a faint whispering in his ear—

And then, abruptly, the dream was over.

Adrien opened his eyes, blinking a few times to clear his vision.

The first thing he noticed was that he was sitting down. He could have sworn that just a minute ago he had been kneeling outside on the terrace, but here he was, seated in an uncomfortable chair in a dimly lit room. He squinted into the darkness but could make out little detail. After another moment, he noticed a faint, musky scent.

"Where am I?" he asked aloud. His voice was scratchy and rough, though he couldn't understand why.

"Oh, thank heavens," Ladybug breathed out. Adrien felt a weight drop onto his shoulder, and after a moment he realized that Ladybug was resting her head against him.

He craned his head slightly and saw that Ladybug was seated behind him, with her back to his. He tried to lift one arm, but found that his limbs were uncooperative.

"What happened?" he asked. "How did we get here?"

"Well," Ladybug began cautiously, "I had a nice chat with Mme Tulle, who actually turned out to be young Mlle Bourgeois."

"That was _Chloé?_ "

"So it would seem," Ladybug said. "It turns out she had no idea that the brooch was supposed to be cursed. It was a gift, apparently, but she didn't recall from whom. I suppose it was someone who was upset with her and wanted revenge."

"That does sound like Chloé," Adrien muttered.

"Yes," Ladybug agreed. "So, I was able to, ah, 'retrieve' the brooch without her noticing. Then I made my way outside to look for you, but that horrible Gorilla man caught up with me and hauled me down here. He brought you in a quarter of an hour later, and... now we're tied up. What happened to you?"

Adrien recounted to her everything that had happened. Ladybug inhaled sharply when he told her of his fight with the Gorilla, and she grew very concerned about his health.

"You've been unconscious for quite some time," she said. "Is your head all right? I do hope you don't have a concussion."

Adrien blinked a few times. "I think I'm well," he said slowly. Now that Ladybug mentioned it, he did feel a slight throbbing at the back of his head, but it was hardly painful at all—certainly not painful enough to be a concussion.

"So," he continued, "why are we down here?"

He felt Ladybug's shoulders move against him in a shrug. "Maybe they want to ask us some questions?"

"Well that sounds lovely," Adrien said dryly. "Just a pleasant chat with murderers and crimelords, while we're tied up in the cellar."

"Yes," Ladybug said. "But if you're getting impatient, perhaps we could make other plans?"

Adrien turned as best he could towards her. "What do you have in mind?"

Ladybug tilted her head slightly to the right and, if Adrien craned his head slightly, he could get a clear view of the many pins and clips holding her hair up.

"The big silver one on the left," Ladybug said. "Can you pull it out with your teeth?"

Adrien squinted skeptically at the hairpin. "I can try," he offered.

He leaned in as close as he could, straining his neck painfully, and just barely managed to get a grip on the head of the pin with his front teeth. Very gently, he teased it out from her hair. The lower half of the pin remained lodged in Ladybug's chignon, but the top half slipped out easily and revealed itself as a small hidden dagger, glinting silver in the dim light.

"Did you get it?" Ladybug breathed, not daring to move.

"Mmm," Adrien answered, keeping a careful grip of the knife with his teeth.

"Can you drop it into your hand?" Ladybug asked. Adrien glanced down at his hands, tied to the arms of the chair, and mulled the thought over.

"I don't think so," he mumbled, careful not to drop the knife while he spoke.

Ladybug exhaled deeply, then said, "Alright. Drop it onto my shoulder, then." Adrien moved to do so, but she interrupted, saying "No, the other shoulder—I'm right-handed."

Adrien obeyed, and the knife landed gently in the curve between her shoulder and her neck, drawing a small point of blood where the tip hit her skin. Ladybug hissed quietly, but quickly shrugged off the pain. In one surprisingly graceful motion, she rolled the knife off of her shoulder, sending it tumbling down along her arm and nearly onto the floor. At the very last moment, however, she caught the knife tightly by the blade with her right hand, despite it still being restrained to the chair.

"Got you!" she murmured triumphantly.

From there, she made quick work of the bindings holding down her right hand, sawing through the ropes adeptly though she had a very limited range of motion. Once her right hand was free, she reached into under her dress and removed a much larger knife that had been strapped to her thigh. She then hurried to slice away the rest of her bindings.

She rushed over to Adrien next, kneeling by his side. "Have you always had that?" Adrien asked mildly, gesturing with his head towards her knife.

"I always keep at least three knives on my person," Ladybug said. "It's only civilized."

Adrien found himself wondering where the third knife was, but within a minute, he was free as well. He attempted to stand, but hissed when a sudden pain shot up his leg. He had forgotten about the injury to his ankle earlier, and Ladybug winced when she saw the swelling.

"Can you walk?" she asked briskly.

Adrien rose unsteadily to his feet, and careful not to put too much weight on his injured leg. "I think I can manage," he said gamely, but he was still heavily supporting his weight against the chair.

Ladybug glanced over her shoulder at the stairway out of the cellar. "No time for that," she said. Without hesitation, she seized Adrien around the waist and hoisted him over one shoulder. Adrien lurched at the sudden grab, but Ladybug's grip on him was firm. "Let's get out of here."

She carried him easily up the stairs, dashing up them two at a time. The jostling was rather uncomfortable, but Adrien could not help but be impressed by Ladybug's athleticism.

"You are _very_ strong," he said admiringly.

Ladybug hesitated at the cellar door, listening for anyone outside of it. "I'm really not," she said softly to Adrien. "You're just too skinny."

Adrien laughed at that. Once Ladybug had determined that it was safe outside, she carefully shouldered the door open and they stepped out into a dimly lit hallway. "I'm a head taller than you are," he pointed out, "and probably twice as heavy."

Ladybug scanned the hall carefully, looking for the most likely exit, and eventually set off towards the right. "Well, all that climbing about on rooftops does wonders for your arm strength," she said.

"Ah, your secret is revealed."

Ladybug's steps slowed, and she suddenly came to stop. "Shh," she whispered.

Adrien strained his ears and heard, very faintly, the sound of footsteps approaching. After a moment of hesitation, Ladybug moved quickly to a nearby door and threw it open. She slipped in, still carrying Adrien over her shoulder, and managed to close the door behind them before the footsteps reached the hallway.

They both listened in tense silence as the footsteps grew closer and closer, until they were just on the other side of the door. Ladybug and Adrien both held their breath, but the footsteps continued on without hesitation.

Eventually, the footsteps grew distant again, and Ladybug breathed out a sigh of relief. She reached out with one hand to open the door again, but froze when she heard a voice from behind her.

"Don't celebrate yet, my dear," its said. "You haven't escaped yet."

Ladybug stiffened, and a chill ran down Adrien's spine. Very slowly and carefully, she lowered Adrien to his feet, and he leaned heavily against her as they turned to face the speaker.

The room was some kind of study or office, full of books and maps and a desk along the far wall. Sitting in a chair before the fireplace was Grimault, still wearing his suit and mask. He was shuffling his deck of tarot cards on one of his thighs, and though he must have been speaking to Adrien and Ladybug, he did not look at them.

Adrien spoke first. "M. Grimault," he said, "what are you doing here?"

Grimault flipped the deck of cards over in his hand and began thumbing through them. "A better question, M. Agreste," he said, "would be what are _you_ doing here? I thought that you and your ladylove were stowed safely in the cellar. However did you get out?"

Adrien opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated before answering. Ladybug, sensing that something was amiss, tightened her grip on him and stayed silent.

"Ah, here it is," Grimault said. He removed one card from the deck, and held it up for Adrien to see. "The thirteenth trump card, Death."

Adrien and Ladybug exchanged a nervous look.

"M. Grimault," Adrien began, taking half a step forward, "I honestly don't know what's going on right now, but there's a very dangerous man out there—"

"Oh yes, I am aware of the situation," Grimault interrupted sharply. "Who do you think orchestrated it, boy? Who planted the thought in your head, of going out alone with your father? Who suborned his henchman?"

The door behind them opened abruptly. Adrien and Ladybug both whirled around in a panic, but Grimault calmly held up one hand.

He snapped his fingers, just once. "Stop," he commanded, and the Gorilla stood perfectly still in the doorway.

"I don't understand," Adrien said, his eyes moving nervously between Grimault and the Gorilla.

"You stop too," Grimault ordered him, and Adrien suddenly found himself frozen in place, as though he had been suddenly paralyzed. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but he couldn't even do that.

Casually, Grimault redirected his attention towards Ladybug. "You," he said, gesturing with one hand at her. "You're the lady thief, the one they call Ladybug."

Ladybug frowned, but did not deny it. "Your dress gives it away," Grimault said. He flipped through the deck again, and produced another card. "Queen of Wands," he muttered under his breath. "I should have known."

"You... want to play a game of tarot?" Ladybug asked slowly. Her eyes narrowed in confusion.

Grimault declined to answer her question. Instead he shuffled the card back into the deck and said to her, "You're like me. I can tell."

"I don't understand," Ladybug said.

"They came for you," Grimault said. His voice was distant, and he spoke in a resigned sort of way. "They killed people you love. They tried to kill _you_. Human life is meaningless to them."

Ladybug nodded once. "Yes," she said slowly.

Grimault shook his head. "They're monsters," he spat. "Nothing can sate their appetites for material things."

"Yes," Ladybug said again. "They stole something very precious from me."

"And yet, you've allied yourself with this _filth!_ " Grimault spat. He gestured with one hand at Adrien, who was still frozen in place, unresponsive.

Ladybug glanced nervously up at Adrien's face. "What have you done to him?" she asked quietly.

"Why do you care?" Grimault asked. "He's one of _the_ _m."_

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ladybug asked.

But Grimault turned towards Adrien instead. "Come," he said, beckoning, and as though he were being pulled by puppet strings, Adrien stepped forward.

"Hypnosis is an altered state of consciousness," he continued, "in which the subject becomes very suggestible. Observe."

Grimault turned to the nearby desk, and picked up a small handgun. He pressed it into Adrien's hand and said, quite calmly, "Aim this at her."

Adrien tried to resist the command. But he no longer seemed to be in control of his arm. Very slowly, he raised it up, until the gun was pointed directly at Ladybug. His finger rested on the trigger.

"Adrien?" she asked. For the first time, her voice had a note of panic to it.

"I—I can't," he managed to stutter out.

"Why are you doing this?" Ladybug asked, turning back to Grimault. "What is it that you want?"

"Revenge against those who wronged me." Grimault had resumed shuffling his tarot cards on his knee. "Starting with _him._ I'm going to—"

But Grimault did not get the opportunity to finish his sentence. Adrien was still standing frozen in place, gun pointed directly at Ladybug, when she finally sprung into action. She rushed forward and kicked his legs out from under him—a task made all the easier by Adrien's injured ankle—then rushed at Grimault himself.

Grimault rose hastily, stumbling backwards to avoid her, and barked at the Gorilla, "Do something!"

The Gorilla, who had been standing perfectly still as if in a trance, was suddenly roused. He blinked several times, and then his eyes focused in on Ladybug.

Adrien by now was back on his feet, even though his left ankle was throbbing painfully, and still clutching the gun that Grimault had given him. "Ladybug," he said nervously.

Ladybug glanced back over her shoulder at the tumult behind her, then grabbed a lamp off the desk and swung it hard into the Gorilla's face. He fell backwards, knocked temporarily unconscious, and Ladybug turned to seize Grimault by the shoulders. "How are you controlling them?" she demanded.

Grimault's eyes went from Ladybug, to the pile of tarot cards that had fallen in a heap near on the floor. It wasn't an answer, but Ladybug released him anyway, and dove for the cards.

Grimault dove for them as as well, and scrambled to pick up as many as he could.

"Two of Cups!" Grimault cried out. "Five of Pentacles! The Moon!"

With each cry, he flung the cards at Ladybug as if they were curses. Each one hit her in the chest, but if they had any effect other than frightening her, Adrien certainly didn't notice.

But Ladybug was indeed frightened. Grimault's behavior had been unsettling, and she had tasted just enough strangeness that evening that her more superstitious instincts got the better of her. In a jerky, panicked motion, she gathered up as many of the cards as she could, and hurled them into the fireplace.

"NO!" Grimault howled. Though the cards were already blackened and curling, burnt into a crisp, he reached after them. He plunged his hands into the fire, screaming in agony as he did so, palming desperately at the ashy remnants of his tarot deck.

As the cards burned, Adrien felt as though a haze had been lifted from him. His grip loosened, and the gun tumbled down to the floor. Behind him, the Gorilla looked equally confused as he was slowly roused back to consciousness.

"Come on!" Ladybug called out. She seized Adrien by the arm and began dragging him away. Though his leg still hurt, he found that in the heat of the moment he was able to walk well enough.

Behind them, Grimault howled in pain, his hands still thrust into the fire.

Ladybug spared a brief glance over her shoulder, then steeled herself and began searching for an exit to the residence. She found it quickly enough, and suddenly she and Adrien were found themselves back out onto the streets near the Place Vendôme, though they were now quite removed from the partying at the Hôtel Bourgeois.

Outside, it was quiet and normal—perhaps unnervingly so. Ladybug took a few quick, shallow breaths, and then began immediately walking back towards the hotel. Adrien limped along behind her.

"Do you have any idea what that was about?" she asked him. Her voice was high and weak, and Adrien could easily detect the worry in her tone.

"I think," Adrien said slowly, "that M. Grimault may have had an enchanted deck of tarot cards."

"That is _ridiculous_ ," Ladybug said. She followed her statement up nervously with a question, "Isn't it?"

"Clearly there are more players than just the Collector and ourselves in this game," Adrien said. By now, they were nearly back at the hotel. Ladybug checked nervously over her shoulder to check that they hadn't been followed, but neither Grimault nor the Gorilla made an appearance. "M. Grimault appears to have been on a side entirely his own—though, after that encounter, hopefully he'll no longer be a threat."

Ladybug blanched visibly at that. "I don't understand what he thought he was doing," she said slowly. "Why would he target you in particular? You don't have anything to do with the Collector."

Adrien had no answer to that. Eventually, he said quietly, "I should find my father. He'll be worried about me."

Ladybug glanced at Adrien, her eyes sweeping him up and down. Then, very gently, she reached out to touch the lump on his head. It was still quite tender, though less so than Adrien had expected.

"You wait here," Ladybug said. She reached up her left sleeve, and removed a hidden knife from it, which she then handed to Adrien. "Keep this, in case those two show up again. I'll find your father and let him know that you're not dead."

Adrien looked down at the knife with mild surprise. "The third knife," he muttered. "Has this been up your sleeve the entire time?"

But Ladybug left without answering. There were no benches nearby and so he seated himself on the ground until Ladybug returned. He waited for only a quarter of an hour, and when she came back, she helped him up to his feet.

"He was relieved to know that you were well," Ladybug said, "and wishes you a speedy recovery."

"How much did you explain to him?" Adrien asked, furrowing his brow.

Ladybug tilted her head slightly to one side. "Nothing specific," she said. "I take it that your father does not know much our work?"

"No," Adrien said. He shook his head-the mere thought of telling his father the whole truth about his work made him anxious. "Did he recognize you?"

Ladybug smiled. "He recognized me as your partner from before, if that's what you mean," she said. "But I'm sure that he doesn't have the faintest idea who I am."

Adrien took a step forward, but winced when he set weight upon his injured leg.

"Here," said Ladybug gently. She stepped closer to him and ducked under his left arm. She wrapped one of her own arms securely around his waist and Adrien leaned against her, grateful for the support.

"I suppose we're leaving the ball early, Cinderella," she said lightly.

"What a shame," Adrien said. "I would've like to dance a polka with you."

"Next time, perhaps," Ladybug said gently. "For now, I'm taking you home."

She made arrangements for a carriage to take them back to his home in Les Halles, and then they were quickly back at Adrien's residence. Ladybug helped him up into his bedroom, and once she had him seated she bean began fussing over him like a mother hen. She went to work immediately, fetching a bag of ice for his head and setting to work wrapping a compress for his sprained ankle.

Adrien was still trying to process the events of the evening.

"That was clearly supernatural," he said in a daze. "Wasn't it?"

"It did seem that way," Ladybug admitted. Her voice was steady but her hands were shaking as she finished wrapping his leg.

"That was... _magic_ ," he continued. "There's no other possible explanation."

Ladybug was more hesitant. "Maybe it will make more sense in the morning," she suggested, though her tone held no conviction. "It was strange... but I'm sure that there's a better explanation."

She leaned back on her heels and looked up pensively at him. "How does your head feel?"

Adrien set the bag of ice aside. "It's fine, honestly," he said.

"You were unconscious for at least half an hour," Ladybug said. She rose up to her feet and then sat down beside him on the bed. She brought her fingers lightly up to his scalp, though she kept them well away from the spot where he had been struck. "That kind of blow usually leaves lasting damage."

"Well, maybe that was magic too," Adrien said.

He wriggled his fingers in a playful way, and Ladybug scowled. "Don't be silly," Ladybug said sternly. "This was very serious!"

"I'm always silly," Adrien countered. "It's what you love about me."

Ladybug turned to him, still scowling. But after a moment, she admitted, "It's true."

There was a moment of stillness, as the scowl slowly dropped from Ladybug's face and was replaced with a different, softer expression. Adrien watched her closely as she slowly leaned towards him, until their faces were just centimeters apart.

But then she hesitated. "The ball was nice," she said, suddenly shy. "I'm sorry that it turned into this..." She gestured with one hand. "Whole grand adventure."

"That's hardly your fault," Adrien said softly.

"I—I know," Ladybug said. She drew back slightly and shook her head a little. "It's just—I didn't mean for you to get caught up in all of this. That's why I worked alone for so long—it was just safer, wasn't it?—and I thought I had things under control, but now I—I'm sorry, I'm babbling."

Ladybug closed her eyes and took a breath to calm herself. "I just... I never meant to turn _my_ problems into _your_ problems."

Adrien smiled fondly at her. "Don't be silly," he said. "I care about you, Ladybug. I _want_ them to be my problems."

He lifted one hand up to the side of her face. Slowly, he traced his fingers along the edge of her mask, his fingers running along the spot where fabric met skin. It would have been easy for him to remove it, and yet Ladybug made to attempt to stop him.

Instead, he left the mask in place and brushed aside a stray strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Ladybug shivered slightly at the touch.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked softly.

Ladybug's eyes flickered down to his lips, then back up to his eyes. She nodded, then held her breath as Adrien leaned in slowly.

The kiss only lasted a moment, soft and chaste, before Adrien drew back.

Ladybug was blushing now, her cheeks faintly pink. After a moment of stillness, she said very quietly, "I suppose I should go home." But she made no motion to leave, nor did she draw away from him.

"If you want to," Adrien said.

Ladybug bit down on her lip, trying to conceal a smile. "And if I didn't want to?" she asked.

Adrien shrugged one shoulder, feigning nonchalance. "Maybe it would be safer if you stayed," he suggested. "Who knows what kind of thugs you might run into at this time of night?"

Ladybug's smile only grew. "Thugs!" she scoffed. "I think I can handle them."

"All right," Adrien granted. "Wolves, then."

At that, Ladybug burst into delighted laughter. "Wolves, in the streets of Paris?"

Adrien was smiling too. "Well, you never know," he said in a low voice. He dipped his head down for another brief kiss. Ladybug gladly reciprocated, and Adrien was pleasantly surprised at the fierce way she pulled him close this time. She wrapped her arms around him, digging her hands into the fabric of his suit, and pressed herself so close that Adrien was afraid that they'd both topple over. He steadied himself with one hand against the bedframe, and wrapped his other arm snugly around her waist.

When at last they were forced to part for breath, Ladybug was grinning. "Frankly," she said breathily, "I think I'm more likely to see the wolf in here than out there."

They were both quite red by now, their cheeks so bright that their matching blushes were clear even in the dim light.

"I've never done anything like this before," Adrien confessed.

Ladybug's flush darkened. "Neither have I," she said.

Adrien leaned in again and kissed her briefly on the mouth, then once more gently along her jawbone.

"Say the word and I'll stop," he murmured, his lips ghosting against her neck.

Ladybug's eyes fluttered shut. "Keep going," she breathed.

* * *

Ladybug was right. The next morning, by the light of day, the events of the previous night seemed much less mystical. What had been hopelessly inexplicable the night before now seemed like nothing more than sleight of hand and carnival trickery.

Now convinced that Grimault was nothing more than a talented stage magician, the matter of the tarot cards seemed much less frightening.

Ladybug left early, without even eating breakfast, explaining vaguely that she had other business she was obliged to see to. She kissed Adrien gently on the forehead before she left, and then made her way outside. She had swapped out her gown from the evening before with some of Adrien's clothes, leaving the dress folded up on one of Adrien's chairs, and every time Adrien caught a glimpse of the red satin fabric, he found himself smiling foolishly.

Adrien spent the rest of the morning lounging around. He was careful with his injured leg, but it was recovering quickly, and was already very nearly back to normal. He still decided against attending Mass that morning—not so much because of his injury, but because he wasn't sure he would be able to look at his father with a straight face after the previous night.

Just after noon, he was quite surprised when a client came to call upon him. He very rarely got business on Sundays, but he was not a particularly devout man, and so he ushered the woman in.

The client was a very tall and willowy woman, and her attire made her look even thinner. She was dressed entirely in black, from head to toe, in tight garments that exposed her all her sharply jutting angles. Her boots, also black, were very heavy, and each one of her footsteps had a resounding thud.

"M. Detective," she said. Her voice was low and rough, and entirely devoid of emotion. "I need your help."

"Of course, madame," he said. He gestured for the woman to take a seat and she did, settling into the armchair uncertainly. "What's troubling you?"

"There's been a murder," the woman said flatly. On her face, there was as much emotion as one might find in a marble statue.

"Have the police been contacted?" Adrien immediately asked.

"Not yet," the young woman admitted.

"Then I would advise you contact them first," Adrien said, but the woman seemed reluctant.

"I'm afraid this matter must be handled with discretion," she explained. "The site of the murder, you see, was 12 Rue Chabanais."


	11. Shadows at Le Chabanais

**A/N:** Sorry, Vilchen. :(

* * *

There was nothing outwardly noteworthy about 12 Rue Chabanais, which, despite its reputation, had a very modest exterior.

The interior, of course, was another matter entirely. The decor was so extravagant and ornate that even Adrien, who had spent his entire life surrounded by the vestiges of France's old nobility, caught himself staring. There were sweeping staircases with bejeweled balustrades, fireplaces adorned with delicately carved marble mantelpieces, and crystalline chandeliers that sparkled so brilliantly that Adrien couldn't even look directly at them. On the walls, erotic oil paintings hung in delicate golden frames. It was perhaps the most luxurious bordello in all of Paris, and it clearly spared no expense.

The crime scene itself, by contrast, was fairly gruesome. Adrien had seen his fair share of corpses, but this death unsettled him in a way the others hadn't. Perhaps it was the victim's youth, or the mottled ring of discoloration around her neck. Or perhaps it was simply something about her face, contorted into an anguished expression that would haunt his nightmares for weeks to come.

He looked away, unable to bear it any longer. "Mme Couffaine," he said, "I really would feel more comfortable if you summoned the police for this."

"I would prefer not to," Mme Couffaine said. Her voice was calm, but Adrien thought he detected a slight threat in her tone. "And if you refuse, I will simply find a detective with fewer scruples than you."

"The police are quite capable of being discreet," Adrien tried.

"No," said Mme Couffaine firmly. "Now, are you going to take my case, or not?"

Adrien knew that he probably shouldn't. But he also knew that he could never refuse anyone who came to him for help.

He sighed. "Who is she?" he asked quietly.

"Rose Lavillant," Mme Couffaine answered. Adrien glanced around the room which was, fittingly, decorated entirely in pink, from the carpet to the bedding. Even the furnishings were pink.

"Was that her real name?" he asked cautiously.

"It's the only name I have."

"What else can you tell me about her?"

Mme Couffaine's eyes flickered briefly towards the body. "She loved people," she said, her voice a soft monotone, "and people loved her."

"Did you love her?" Adrien asked. He raised his brows at Mme Couffaine. "You don't seem very upset about her death."

"On the contrary," Mme Couffaine said, "she was very dear to me, and I am beside myself with grief."

Mme Couffaine did not look like a woman who was beside herself with grief, but Adrien supposed that she was just a stoic sort of person. "Lately, Rose had caught the eye of a certain foreign royal," Mme Couffaine continued. "Prince Ali of the Ottoman Empire."

"This Ali, you think he's responsible for this?"

"Perhaps indirectly," Mme Couffaine replied. "The man who did this—the last client that Rose ever saw—was a short Levantine man."

Adrien took another brief glance around the room. "And you think that he was somehow connected to this Turkish prince?"

"Is there any other possible explanation?" Mme Couffaine asked. "The Prince was genuinely fond of Rose, or so it seemed. But the Sultan is growing old, and Ottoman succession is notoriously bloody."

Adrien, of course, thought that there were still many other possible explanations. But for the moment, he declined to elaborate, saying only, "I'll see what I can find for you."

"Thank you," Mme Couffaine said.

Adrien left Le Chabanais feeling rather gloomy, and the weather outside matched his mood. It was a cloudy afternoon, and the distant rumble of thunder promised storms soon. It had not started raining yet, but Adrien pulled his coat a little tighter around himself as he stepped outside.

It was not precisely peak business hours for the brothel, so it was far less busy outside than it might have been. Still, Paris was crowded city, and there were plenty of comers and goers roaming about. To Adrien's great surprise, he recognized one of them as Marinette Cheng, whom he had not encountered since their last chance meeting near the _La Fronde_ newspaper office.

She looked happy despite the weather, walking with a slight skip in her step and smiling to herself. When Adrien waved at her, she glanced up at him and blushed prettily.

"Hello, Adrien!" she greeted him warmly.

"Mlle Cheng, how nice to see you," Adrien said. "Were you on your way to visit with Alya again?"

Something about Marinette's expression faltered slightly, and her gaze was drawn to the building behind him. The pink in her cheeks grew steadily brighter, and Adrien realized belatedly that she must have realized he was leaving the brothel.

"I was just leaving there, actually," she eventually said. Her voice was slightly strained, and she was deliberately not meeting his eye. "I was on my way to meet with Mr. Stone—oh, there he is."

What strange fortune Adrien had! For there indeed was Mr. Stone, emerging from a nearby residential building. Mr. Stone spotted Marinette quickly, and waved slightly at her as he walked over to join them.

Mr. Stone was every bit as eccentric as Adrien remembered. As soon as he reached them, he immediately took a spot beside Marinette, casually draping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her in close. Adrien felt slightly uncomfortable at the display of affection, but Marinette clearly was not bothered, for she smiled fondly up at her employer.

"Marinette!" he said, his voice sing-songy. "This young man isn't giving you trouble, is he?"

"Not at all, Mr. Stone," Marinette said. "You remember Detective Agreste, don't you?"

Mr. Stone thought about it for a moment, then snapped his fingers and pointed directly at Adrien's chest. "Aha!" he exclaimed. "This is Mr. Murder Mystery, is he? Your _inamorato_ with the nice hands and the beautiful green—"

"Well, we really should be going," Marinette quickly interrupted. "Farewell, M. Agreste!"

"Oh, right!" Mr. Stone agreed. "See you soon!"

"Oh, goodbye, then," Adrien said a little awkwardly. He had not expected their conversation to end so abruptly. "See you."

Both Marinette Cheng and Mr. Stone then quickly scurried away, no doubt headed back to Montmartre. Adrien, for his part, dallied for a while longer, contemplating his case. But soon enough, he decided that he ought to pay a visit to Rose's foreign royal, and he headed south.

His Imperial Highness Prince Şehzade Ali was currently staying at the Hôtel Bourgeois, and Adrien arranged to meet with him there that very afternoon. The Prince, Adrien discovered, was a handsome young man with an easy smile, though his eyes were rimmed with red. When Adrien came to see him, he greeted him amiably, and poured out two cups of Turkish _ra_ _kı_.

"Thank you for finding the time to meet with me," Adrien said. The Prince offered him one of the cups and Adrien took it into his hand, though he did not yet drink it.

"Of course," the Prince said. "I was heartbroken when I learned what happened to Rose. I will do anything I can do help."

"Is it possible that this crime could have been politically motivated?" Adrien asked gently.

The Prince looked taken aback. "Do you mean to ask, do I suppose that her death could have been due to her relationship with me?"

"You are the nephew of the Sultan," Adrien pointed out. "Could this have something to do with court intrigue in Constantinople?"

The Prince let out a bark of laughter. "No, certainly not," he said mirthfully. Upon seeing Adrien's confused expression, he continued, "I apologize if I have offended you, my friend, but you misunderstand my political importance. My uncle has seventeen brothers, and perhaps forty nephews. I am only the most minor of princes."

"I see," Adrien said hesitantly.

"There's no one in Constantinople who knows or cares about me," the Prince continued. Despite his words, his tone contained no hint of bitterness. He spoke about the Ottoman court with the same detached boredom that a child might read a news report. "I am in no danger of inheriting the throne, and I am not a player in imperial politics. I'm not even a pawn, at that."

"And do you have any enemies here in Paris?" Adrien pressed on.

The Prince shook his head. "None that I know of."

Adrien grimaced. It was beginning to look less and less like Prince Ali had any useful information for him, which put him right back where he started—and with even fewer leads to follow up on this time around.

"Well, thank you for your time, Your Highness," Adrien said. "I'll keep you updated about any developments in the case."

"I'd appreciate that," the Prince said. As Adrien rose to leave, the Prince rose as well, adding, "If I could ask just one more thing—I gifted Rose with a topaz necklace several months ago, and I was wondering if you knew what became of it?"

"A topaz necklace?" Adrien asked.

"I don't want it back, if that's what you're thinking," the Prince quickly explained. "But it was quite valuable. An old Byzantine Greek relic. I know things have a way of... _disappearing_ during investigations, and I'd like to ensure that it ends up with her family."

"Of course," Adrien said. "Could you describe the necklace to me?"

The Prince described the necklace in great detail, and Adrien took careful notes in his notepad. It was quite old and worth a fair bit of money, being encrusted with several jewels, including a large yellow topaz. Though it was an ancient relic, the chain was sturdy, made of steel.

Certainly, it would have been sturdy enough to be used to strangle a woman.

"I'll look into it," Adrien promised Prince Ali.

He then hurriedly departed the Hôtel Bourgeois and made his way back to his apartment in Les Halles. It was getting late in the evening by then, and though the sun had not yet set, the shadows of buildings had grown long and Adrien's home was cloaked in darkness. He swung the front door open with one shoulder and walked over to his desk without bothering to turn on any lights.

He had just set his files and papers upon the desk and was about to take a seat when he was startled by a voice piercing through the darkness.

"Hello, M. Agreste," said Ladybug.

Adrien nearly jumped out of his own skin. He whirled around and found that his apartment was not empty, but currently inhabited by his own dear Ladybug. She was sitting casually in one of his armchairs, dressed up in her usual gear, mask firmly in place, and her mouth twisted into an unhappy grimace.

Adrien clasped one hand to his pounding chest. "Hello, darling," he said weakly. "Were you trying to scare me to death?"

"Just returning a favor," she said. She smiled unkindly, baring her teeth in an expression that looked more like a growl than a grin.

"Ah, I see," Adrien said playfully. "This is revenge for that trick I pulled at the hotel the other month." When Ladybug's expression remained cold, he asked, "Is something... wrong?"

"I heard an interesting rumor," Ladybug said slowly, full of false nonchalance, "that you were spotted at a brothel today."

Adrien momentarily glanced skyward. "Good heavens," he said, "how _do_ you hear these things?"

Ladybug glared at him, and he was briefly confused by her sour mood, until he suddenly realized what she must be thinking.

"Oh," he said gently.

He took a few steps closer to Ladybug and lifted one hand up towards her face. When she didn't pull away, he dared to briefly caress her cheek. "You silly thing," he said fondly. "Do you really think me so fickle?"

Ladybug was still glowering at him, but her expression had softened slightly. "That," she said slowly, "was not a denial."

"Indeed it wasn't," Adrien agreed. "You are correct, I was at Le Chabanais this afternoon, but not for the reason you fear. There's been a murder."

"You were there... for a case?"

"Well," said Adrien, "I'm not really the sort of person who would be there for any other reason."

Ladybug glanced downward. "No," she conceded, "I suppose you aren't."

She relaxed visibly and Adrien leaned forward to press a brief kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, Ladybug was smiling.

"So," she asked, "what's the case?"

"A young woman by the name of Rose Lavillant was found dead in her room." Adrien thumbed through a few of his papers. "It seems that she was a particular favorite of an Ottoman prince, and one of the other employees believes that's why she was killed."

"Is that what you think?" Ladybug asked.

Adrien did not answer her directly. "She was in possession of a rather interesting necklace," he said. "Yellow topaz. An old Byzantine relic, supposedly."

"The Collector."

"It certainly matches his modus operandi," Adrien said. "Mme Couffaine reports that Rose's last client was a small Levantine man."

"The Butterfly," Ladybug said. "Noor ad-Din."

"Perhaps," Adrien said. "Perhaps not. I imagine there's at least a few more Levantine men to be found in Paris."

"But it's the best lead you've got," Ladybug said.

"Well, it certainly _would_ be, if we had anything that could lead us back to him," Adrien pointed out. "But that's a complete dead end. We've been searching for him for weeks, to no end."

"Are you sure about that?" Ladybug asked slyly.

Adrien looked to Ladybug, cautiously hopeful. "What do you have?" he asked.

Ladybug reached into one pocket and produced a scrap of cloth. It was the very same cloth that Noor had used to conceal Fu's bracelet on that evening so long ago. At the time it had looked plain and black, but Adrien saw it revealed now as a delicate calico print, with a swirling geometric pattern done in four or five colors.

"An Asian-style print," Adrien said. "What does it mean?"

Ladybug smirked. "Not just Asian-style," she said. She held the scrap of fabric out to him. "Look at these colors. This is an authentic Indian chintz."

Adrien, who knew little enough about fabrics, was not enlightened. "So...?"

" _So_ ," Ladybug said, "this stuff is nearly impossible to get in Europe. All the textile associations have lobbied together for protectionist tariffs, so that their cheaper imitations can dominate the markets. To get something like this at a reasonable price, it has to be done through smugglers."

"Are you serious?" Adrien asked skeptically. "There's a black market for _textiles?_ "

"There's a black market for everything," Ladybug said briskly. "And fortunately, I know just the man who might be able to lead us back to Noor ad-Din."

Ladybug's smuggling contact was someone she had met during her flower-making apprenticeship. There was, she explained, a vast black market for foreign silks and dyes, and Ladybug had solicited her contact often for assistance acquiring the perfect shade of indigo, or precisely the right weave of fabric.

Early the next morning, Ladybug went to see what she could discover about Noor ad-Din, while Adrien returned to the crime scene at Le Chabanais to see if he could discover anything else about Rose's topaz necklace. Mme Couffaine led him back to Rose's room, which had been partially cleaned, and allowed him to examine it at his leisure.

As he had expected, the necklace was nowhere to be found. Mme Couffaine was kind enough to allow him to use their telephone, and Adrien spoke briefly with the Prince to update him on his progress. Adrien's conscience forced him to admit that the topaz necklace was missing, but that he had hopes for recovering it. The Prince took the news well, or as well could be expected, for though he kept his composure throughout the entire conversation his voice was weak and watery. Rose's death clearly still weighed heavily on him.

After his call with the Prince, Adrien turned to Mme Couffaine. He explained the situation to her, and she was eager to know every detail.

"This murderer, what did you say his name was?" Mme Couffaine asked seriously.

" _Alleged_ murderer," Adrien pointed out piously. But he dutifully recited the name for Mme Couffaine's records, and the conversation dragged on for a quarter of an hour before she was satisfied. She wanted to know everything, from every last detail about the topaz necklace to Ladybug's black-market textile contact.

Afterwards, Adrien made a quick detour Rue Saint-Georges, thinking that it had been too long since he last paid Alya a visit. He had not heard from her in several days, which was unusual. He ducked into the _La Fronde_ office and found that it was a hive of activity, as ever.

"Morning, Pénélope," Adrien greeted the receptionist. "Do you know if Alya's in?"

"As a matter of fact, she is," Pénélope said. "But she's all in a tizzy over some conspiracy or another! You might not find her very good company."

Adrien laughed. "I'll try my luck," he said. He quickly made his way up the stairs and found Alya in quite an agitated state, as promised.

"You!" she snapped at him. "It's about time you showed up here!"

Adrien slowed to a stop and glanced over his shoulder, just to make certain she wasn't talking to someone else. "It is...?" he ventured carefully.

Alya crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. " _Yes_ ," she said. "I've been trying to contact you for hours. I've just recently heard a _very credible_ rumor that Chloé Bourgeois killed a man—"

"She _what?_ " Adrien asked incredulously.

"—in a secret black magic ritual—"

"Alya—"

"—and that she's joined a cult devil-worshippers that meets underground in the catacombs beneath the Notre Dame cathedral." Alya was pacing now, and Adrien understood why Pénélope had warned him against coming up here. "And it all ties back to those smugglers from the World's Fair! Well?"

Adrien lifted one eyebrow. "Alya, there are no catacombs on the Ile de la Cité."

"That's what they want you to think!" Alya turned to wag a finger at him. "But I've got it all figured out." After a moment's hesitation, she followed this up with, "At least, I think I do. I don't know anymore. I haven't slept in two days."

"You should get some rest," Adrien scolded.

"Psh," said Alya. "Did you come here for a reason, or just to tease me?"

"Just to visit," Adrien admitted. "Although, since I'm here..."

He leaned in closer to speak in a low voice. "I'm working on a very unsettling case," he said. "A dead prostitute at Le Chabanais, with connections to an Ottoman prince."

"How scandalous!"

Adrien had not told Alya much about his adventures with Ladybug. He loved Alya dearly, but discretion was not her forte, and he did not want to do anything to compromise Ladybug's mission. So he told her only in vague terms about Rose and her topaz necklace, without directly mentioning either Ladybug or the Collector.

But he had forgotten just how clever Alya could be. As soon as he finished, Alya muttered, "That sounds quite similar to what happened with Kubdel, at the Louvre! Do you think that Ladybug could be connected to this?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Adrien said vaguely. Eager to change the subject, he added, "Also, do you know what the word _inamorato_ means?"

Alya snorted. "Oh dear," she said. "Ask me again later, when I'll have time to properly interrogate you about your love life."

She shooed him away without giving a proper answer, and so Adrien left and made his way back to Les Halles. When he returned home at last, Ladybug was already waiting for him.

"Good news," she said. "I have an address."

They spent the next half-hour or so planning how they would approach Noor ad-Din at his home.

"Just knock on the front door," Ladybug suggested. "We'll confront him directly."

"That went terribly last time," Adrien pointed out.

"Things will be different now," Ladybug said. "He won't have any hired muscle around to save him this time."

"You don't know that." Adrien argued.

"Well, fine," Ladybug said. She threw up her arms. "But I don't know what else we could possibly do!"

Ladybug did have a certain point.

"Very well, then," Adrien agreed. "But I want your help in case things go sour again."

"Of course," Ladybug agreed. "I'll be watching closely, in case he tries to escape."

With their plan set and now in motion, they both made their way to Noor ad-Din's alleged address. The apartment that Noor was staying in was small, but adequate. It was a tiny residence, but one that looked pleasing enough to live in, at least from the outside. Inside may well have been a different matter entirely, but the building was clean and well-tended. It was an older style of building, admittedly, but it was well-maintained despite its aging infrastructure.

Adrien took a deep breath, and knocked once on Noor ad-Din's front door. When there was no response, Adrien knocked a second time.

The residence remained quiet and dark on the inside, and he exchanged a quick glance with Ladybug.

"Maybe he's just not home?" Ladybug suggested.

"Maybe," Adrien said, though he was less certain. He cautiously tested the doorknob, and found that it was unlocked. Very slowly, so that he was as silent as possible, he pushed the door open. It creaked slightly on its hinges, then quieted as the door swung wide. Adrien held his breath for one tense moment but heard nothing inside, and so he very carefully crept into Noor's home.

There he was immediately greeted with a gruesome and unexpected sight. Laying just a few steps away from him in the front hall was Noor ad-Din himself, quite thoroughly dead on the floor.

Adrien's heart heart flopped unpleasantly, and he quickly scanned his surroundings for any trace of the killer. But he found nothing. Only a silent apartment, a little cluttered, that looked perfectly normal and expected its inhabitant to return to the business of living at any moment now.

Ladybug, who was close behind him, noticed his paleness and asked, "What is it? Is something wr—oh."

She stopped talking abruptly upon spotting the body and, after a short moment of open-mouthed staring, turned right back around. "That's unfortunate," she said.

He, too, wanted to turn his back on the crime. But he felt honor-bound to at least do a cursory examination of the scene.

"Gunshot wounds," Adrien said aloud. "At least three of them, though probably just one would have been enough to kill him. They're good shots."

"How comforting," Ladybug said dryly. "If the killer comes back for us, at least we can be assured we won't suffer slow, agonizing deaths from sepsis."

"Who could have done this?" Adrien mused aloud.

Ladybug snorted. "I can think of a few potential candidates," she said. "Seeing as he was working for the Collector, I'm sure he's made enemies of quite a few people."

"This timing was uncanny though," Adrien said. Very gently, he touched two fingers to Noor's cheek. The flesh was still quite warm. "He's very freshly dead."

"Well, there's not anything to be done about it now," Ladybug said. She did not sound particularly broken up about Noor's death, which Adrien found understandable enough. Still, he was haunted by the memory of Noor's fear at their last encounter. Perhaps Noor was indeed a murderer and a thief, but his words echoed again and again in the back of Adrien's mind: _I never wanted this. T_ _his wasn't my choice_.

How had the Collector compelled him to commit such terrible acts, apparently against his will? Now Adrien feared that they would never know the whole truth.

"We should check his apartment for information," Adrien said eventually, "and then contact the authorities."

Adrien made the arrangements; Ladybug vanished into the shadows of Paris before the police arrived. The police, far from finding Adrien's discovery of the bodies suspicious, thought it was serendipitous. They took a cursory look around the premises, but made little effort to solve the case, which made Adrien's insides churn a little uneasily in his stomach.

He was still dwelling upon these thoughts late into the evening. Even hours later, when he was back at home scanning through some files for another case that he was working on, he found his thoughts drawn back again and again to the death of Noor ad-Din.

At the hour of eight or perhaps nine, he received a visitor, a certain secretary from the infamous Le Chabanais brothel.

"Mme Couffaine," Adrien greeted her. He was quite frankly unsurprised to see her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wanted to thank you," she said.

She took a seat across from Adrien, and they sat in tense silence for a moment. Eventually, Adrien said, "You didn't actually care about discretion, did you?"

"Indeed not," Mme Couffaine confirmed.

"You wanted revenge," Adrien said, "and you couldn't risk the police interfering with you."

"Yes," Mme Couffaine said.

"You were the one who killed Noor ad-Din," Adrien guessed, and Mme Couffaine silently nodded her confirmation. Adrien shook his head slowly and asked, "How did you find him?"

"I have my ways," Mme Couffaine said, as stoic as ever. "Will you tell the authorities that I was the one who killed him?"

Adrien grimaced. "I don't know," he admitted. He could not fault Mme Couffaine for wanting vengeance, but neither could he support her vigilantism.

"Regardless, it doesn't matter either way," Mme Couffaine said. "I will be leaving Paris soon, now that there is nothing keeping me here. Tell the authorities, or don't. By then it will be too late to change anything."

"I see," Adrien said.

Mme Couffaine rose to leave, but when she reached the door, Adrien called out, "Just one more thing." Mme Couffaine turned slightly to face him. "The topaz necklace," he said, "the one that was stolen from her. We found no trace of it at Noor ad-Din's residence."

"And you're wondering if I had already recovered it?" Mme Couffaine asked. Adrien nodded, and she replied, "No. I did not take it from him."

"Then it remains missing," Adrien said. "That's a shame. The Prince would have liked for you to keep it."

At that, tears welled up in Mme Couffaine's eyes. She sniffed and dabbed at them delicately with a handkerchief. "I have other mementos to remember Rose by," she said curtly. "Things that did not get her killed. Good day, M. Agreste, and thank you for your assistance."


	12. The Fraudulent Foreigner

Ladybug, despite knowing perfectly well where the door was, seemed to favor entering Adrien's apartment through the window. When Adrien asked her about it, she waved her hand dismissively and mumbled about trying to escape the neighbors' notice. But Adrien suspected that she just thought it was more fun that way.

He began to understand the wisdom of her position, however, when Alya arrived at his apartment without warning or invitation one blustery autumn afternoon. Adrien was expecting Ladybug at two-thirty o'clock, and Alya arrived just a few minutes before that, ignoring his protests and barreling into his home with aplomb.

"Adrien, I think I am on the verge of a breakthrough," Alya announced.

"That's wonderful," said Adrien sincerely, "but I—"

"Hush!" Alya interrupted. She raised one finger and pressed it to his lips, effectively silencing Adrien. "Don't interrupt, I don't want to lose this train of thought."

Adrien arched one brow, but silently motioned for Alya to continue.

"This secret black magic cult," Alya began, as she paced Adrien's office in circles, "is performing strange rituals in the catacombs, and using cursed magic items to summon demons and ghosts and what have you."

Adrien nodded along politely. He pretended not to hear the sounds of Ladybug opening his bedroom window from the other side of the apartment and said loudly, "That's a very interesting thought, Alya."

"Interesting? Ha!" Alya scoffed. "It's not interesting, it's downright _terrible_ , and I think that the Ladybug must be a part of this. All of those strange, seemingly unconnected items that she's stealing? They're part of the magic rituals!"

Adrien distinctly heard a feminine giggle through the wall, and he winced slightly. But Alya did not notice Ladybug's presence at all. "I think I'm really close to uncovering something big," she said, "if I can just figure out a little more about this lady thief. Do you think you could help me out with this?"

Adrien winced slightly at that. "I can try," he lied nervously, "but I can't promise that anything will turn up."

"You're the best," Alya said. She spun around in a circle and made as if to leave, but she bumped up a nearby cabinet as she did. It wasn't a very hard hit, but it was just enough to tip the cabinet off balance. It tilted slowly, leaning heavily to one side, and then abruptly fell all at once, hurling out its contents as it landed.

"Oh!" Alya cried out, startled. "I'm sorry, Adrien."

"It's fine," Adrien said, waving off her concern. He quickly righted the cabinet, and then began hastily replacing its lost items. Alya knelt to help him, but paused after just a few moments.

"Hey, what's this?" she asked.

She lifted up a framed painting from under a pile of papers. Adrien furrowed his brow in confusion, for he had honestly forgotten entirely about it. Alya lifted it up near the window, inspecting it in the daylight, and laughed out loud. "Goodness, Adrien, you still have this?" she asked.

She turned the frame so that the painting was facing towards him, now. He saw that it was the painting of Marinette Cheng that Nathaniel had done, which had been left sitting alone and unremembered on a shelf for all these months.

"Frl. Kurtzberg wanted me to keep it," Adrien said. He shrugged his shoulders. "It seemed rude to refuse, but I thought it might be strange to have a portrait of a woman I scarcely know up on the walls."

"Pish-posh," Alya said. She held the painting up, admiring it in the sunlight. "This is a beautiful work of art, and I insist that you appreciate it properly. I'm going to hang this up for you right now, do you have a nail?"

Adrien, after a bit of searching, found a hammer and nail for Alya. He allowed her to choose the location to hang the painting, since he had no real sense for decorating, and within a quarter of an hour the painting was hung up on a wall near his desk.

Alya drew back to admire her work. "She really is beautiful, isn't she?" she murmured with a sigh.

Adrien glanced up at the painting again. "Yes, she is," he agreed.

Alya beamed at him. "I am _so_ glad you agree," she said chipperly. "Well, I've got to be off now, but Nino and I will see you for dinner Saturday evening, right?"

"That's the plan," Adrien said. "Saturday, then."

Alya departed at last. When her footsteps finally faded from the hallway, Adrien's bedroom door swung open, and Ladybug popped her head out.

"She certainly was excited," Ladybug said pleasantly.

"Sorry," Adrien apologized hastily. "I wasn't expecting her."

"It's no problem at all," Ladybug said, smiling sweetly. She walked over to join him in his office, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the portrait of Marinette Cheng that Alya had just hung up.

"So, did my ears betray me, or did I hear you tell Alya that this girl is beautiful?" Ladybug asked.

Adrien's cheeks flushed red. "I didn't!" he said quickly. "I mean, I _did_ , but I didn't mean anything by it."

Ladybug, far from being annoyed or jealous, looked pleased. "No, I agree," she said. "She is very pretty, and I'm glad you think so too."

Then she casually added, "By the way, that dinner you're going to this weekend? Alya's using it as an excuse to try to set you up with this girl."

Adrien rolled his eyes. "That's Alya for you, always meddling," he muttered. Then, after a moment's consideration, he asked, "Wait, how do you know that?"

Ladybug smiled slyly. "I have my ways," she said.

Then she turned away from the portrait, and at once got down to business. "The Butterfly is dead," she said briskly, "but that topaz necklace is still out there. That means he must have passed it along to the Collector before he was killed."

"Or he could have sold it to someone else entirely," Adrien pointed out. "We negotiated directly with him when we recovered M. Fu's bracelet."

"That's possible," Ladybug acknowledged. "The necklace may even have been stolen from him, the same way we stole the bracelet. But regardless, we should be on the look for this artifact."

"But where?"

"I've asked my contact to keep an eye out for it," Ladybug said. "And you could try asking Kanté again, I suppose."

Adrien exhaled slowly. "I don't think he would appreciate that," Adrien confessed. "He was reluctant enough to get involved before, and now that Noor ad-Din is dead, I don't know that he'd even have more information for us."

"Well then, all we can do is wait," Ladybug said.

"Yes," Adrien agreed slowly. "Or..."

He trailed off, and Ladybug arched one eyebrow at him. "Or what?" she asked.

"I might have an idea," Adrien said.

Aurore Beauréal lived in a charming residence on Rue de la Fontaine, and her salon was plenty full of assorted occult trinkets and charms. She was known to dabble in strange mysticism and arcane rituals, and while Adrien had always chalked her behavior up to gullibility and naive superstition, he was beginning to wonder if he hadn't been too quick to write her off.

He came to call on her alone, leaving Ladybug behind at his home. Though his appearance was unanticipated, Aurore nonetheless greeted him warmly.

"How nice to see you!" she said. She leaned in to kiss both of his cheeks, then gestured for him to take a seat. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm hoping to cash in that favor you owe me," Adrien admitted. Both of Aurore's eyebrows rose up in surprise. "You deal in... mysterious artifacts, do you not?"

Aurore's look of surprise morphed into a smirk. " _I_ don't deal in them," she said. "I'm only a buyer. But I might be able to help you if there's something in particular you're looking for?"

"A necklace," Adrien replied. "An old Greek artifact, made of topaz and gold."

Aurore gasped aloud. "The Necklace of Harmonia!" she cried out. "It preserves the youth and beauty of any woman who wears it, but at a _terrible_ cost. It's cursed to bring misfortune to its bearer."

Adrien shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Ah, yes," he said awkwardly. "That's the one."

Aurore leaned forward in her seat. "You're not the only one looking for it, you know," she said. She smiled charmingly at him. "The whole market has been brimming with rumors. Personally, I think it sounds absolutely dreadful. Supposedly the last woman who owned it ended up strangled in her own bed. Isn't that just wretched?"

"Yes, quite," Adrien agreed. He was still haunted by the memory of Rose and her untimely death.

"But, who doesn't owned a few cursed amulets, hmm?" Aurore continued blithely. "If it's really what you want, I'll see what I can do for you. I assume you don't want your father to know about this?"

Adrien was briefly confused. "What?"

Aurore looked at him pointedly. He realized that his father would most likely disapprove if he realized that Adrien was dabbling in this kind of low-class mysticism, and thought that Aurore must know it too.

"I mean, yes," Adrien said quickly, "I would appreciate that."

Aurore smiled sweetly and curtsied for him as he left.

By the time Adrien returned to his home in Les Halles, it was getting quite late in the evening. Ladybug had sprawled herself out quite casually on his bed, and was reading idly through some of his case files. She had left papers and books spread out haphazardly all over the bedspread, and Adrien tsked gently at her when he entered.

"My bed is not a desk, I'll have you know," he said dryly.

"Indeed not," Ladybug agreed. "It is much more comfortable than one, though."

She cleared out enough of a space for Adrien to settle down on the mattress beside her. "So?" she asked inquisitively. "What information did you glean from Mlle Beauréal?"

"Nothing yet," Adrien said. "She recognized the necklace when I described it, though, and said she would try to help me find it."

Ladybug's expression grew quite serious. "Does she work with the Collector?" she asked darkly.

Adrien shook his head. "I don't think so. She said that she was only a buyer, and I'm inclined to believe her. Aurore can be willfully ignorant, when it suits her, but she's not the type that would stoop to criminal behavior herself."

Ladybug's face, as always, was concealed beneath her mask. But Adrien had learned enough to easily read her expression from nothing more than the curl of her mouth. "You're certain you can trust her?" she asked. Her tone was skeptical, but Adrien detect a faint undercurrent of worry in her voice.

"Reasonably so," Adrien said. He lifted one hand up to her chin and pulled in close for a brief kiss. "We'll find out soon enough."

"I'm worried," Ladybug admitted. "The closer we get, the more dangerous things become."

"It'll be all right," Adrien said gently. He leaned over again and pressed a kiss to her forehead, just at the top of her mask. "I know we can handle this."

Three days passed before Aurore contacted him again. She sent him a short message, informing him that a certain Lila Rossi was staying in Passy, near the Trocadéro, and that she might be able to help him acquire the artifact that he was looking for. Adrien began penning her a quick message of thanks, but he was interrupted by a visitor before he could finish.

There were two sharp knocks at the door, and Adrien quickly went to answer it. Though he had not been expecting anyone, it was not unusual for him to receive unexpected clients at his home. He was genuinely shocked, however, when he discovered that it was not a stranger, but his own father waiting for him at the doorstep.

His father was a very somber sort of man, and he dressed in a rather old-fashioned style, wearing an outmoded suit and carrying a cane not for practical use, but as an accessory. The sight of him here, in Adrien's modest home and not at his much finer house back in Faubourg Saint-Germain, was strangely uncanny. Adrien hesitated momentarily at the entrance, wondering whether his eyes had deceived him, before his father finally spoke.

"Good afternoon, Adrien," he said stiffly.

"Good afternoon, father," Adrien replied, equally as stiff. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

His father's mouth twisted into a crooked smile. "Do I need an excuse to see my own son?" he asked wryly.

To be frank, something about his father's sudden appearance left Adrien feeling unsettled. But he moved aside nonetheless and motioned for his father to join him indoors.

"Have you been well?" his father asked. "Your work hasn't been too dangerous?"

"No, sir," Adrien lied easily. "And what about you? How is... the estate?"

Adrien, in truth, had little idea of what his father did for a living. His father must have noticed his hesitation, for he smirked slightly, though he did not remark upon it. "The estate is fine," he said.

They settled into an awkward silence for a moment.

"So, my son," his father said, "when were you planning on introducing me to your companion from the ball the other night?"

Adrien felt a brief pang of panic. "Oh," he said nervously. "Very soon, I think! She's been quite busy, though."

"I see," his father said. "Then you'll have to bring her home for dinner sometime. What did you say her name was, again?"

"Marie-" he began to say, before thinking better of it. In a sudden panic, he found himself struggling to come up with a suitable lie. His eyes flickered around the room, and eventually landed on the painting that Alya had hung up just the other day. "Marinette!" he exclaimed.

"Marinette?" his father asked. He furrowed his brow skeptically, and he followed the path of Adrien's eyes back to the painting on the wall.

"Marinette Cheng," Adrien said, more confidently this time. "She lives in Montmartre and works for an eccentric foreign poet. Actually—I met her while I was working a case."

"Oh?" his father asked. "And what case was this?"

Adrien rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. "It was a murdered artist. The very one who did that painting, as a matter of fact." He gestured with his other hand at the wall. "It's still unsolved, I'm afraid."

"Hmm," his father said. He paused for a moment to examine the painting, "He was a talented artist."

"Yes," Adrien agreed. "It's a real tragedy."

"Well," his father said disdainfully, as he turned away from the portrait, "not _such_ a tragedy. He was just a Jew, and a German one at that."

Those words gave Adrien pause. It was not that his father had never expressed such opinions before, for Adrien knew perfectly well that his father had a great deal of contempt for foreigners and non-Christians. But he did wonder how his father had known so much about Nathaniel.

"He was Austrian, actually," Adrien said slowly. "From Vienna."

But his father only scoffed. "Austrians, Bavarians, Prussians... they're all the same." He glanced over at Adrien and must have read something in his expression, for he added, "Perhaps you're too young to understand."

"Perhaps," Adrien agreed, though he was unconvinced.

"You were born into a kinder world than I was," his father continued, "and I can only assume that is why you are so soft. If you had seen the things that I had—the coups, the rebellions, that utterly barbaric siege—then you would understand what I mean."

"I'm sure I would," Adrien said flatly. He was now starting to feel that he had seen quite enough of his father for one afternoon, and asked curtly, "What did you say you came here for, again?"

His father offered him a tight smile. "Nothing at all," he said pleasantly. "And I should be off again. You must come around for dinner sometime soon. It's been too long since you've been home."

His father departed, and Adrien was left feeling rather unsettled by the whole visit. He knew his father plenty well, and he thought that he must have had an ulterior motive for coming to see him—though he could not for the life of him discern what it was. Not to mention, the way his father had spoken of Nathaniel left Adrien with a distinctly bitter taste in his mouth.

He was left with little enough time to dwell on those unhappy thoughts, however. He and Ladybug were scheduled to visit with Lila Rossi that very evening, and so Adrien busied himself once again in his work.

All thoughts of his father were pushed out of his mind as he made his way to a café along the Seine, where he was to meet with Signorina Rossi. It was a charming place, with a warm atmosphere and soft piano music playing in the background. He and Ladybug had agreed in advance that she should come to the meeting as well, but she arrived separately, and in a less obvious disguise than her usual half-mask.

Lila Rossi was a Venetian woman, with olive skin and pretty eyes, and she carried herself with a casual confidence that immediately made Adrien wary. He glanced surreptitiously around the room, checking both for eavesdroppers and for any sign of Ladybug. He did not detect her among the crowd, which he supposed vouched for the strength of her disguise, though it left him feeling alone and uneasy. But Signorina Rossi had noticed him by then, and smiled kindly. Adrien smiled back and went to join her at her table.

"M. Agreste," she greeted him, "what a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Signorina Rossi," said Adrien. He took at seat next to her, and she set one hand upon his arm in a surprisingly affectionate gesture.

"Please, call me Lila," she said. They both ordered drinks, tea for Adrien and a macchiato for Lila, and then they directed their attention to business.

"Aurore tells me that you are looking to buy the Necklace of Harmonia," Lila said. "Which, most fortunately, I currently have in my possession."

Adrien was still unclear on who or what Harmonia was, and how that made the necklace special, but he nodded along to Lila's words. "Alas, she said nothing to me about price. What are you willing to offer?"

"Negotiating prices is so vulgar," Adrien said dismissively, in his best imitation of his father. Lila arched one eyebrow and Adrien continued, "Tell me more about the necklace first. How did you come to acquire it?"

"It's been in my family for generations," Lila said. "I inherited it from my grandmother when she passed on. One of her ancestors was a scholar who lived in old Greek Constantinople, before it fell to those Ottoman barbarians, and he rescued many artifacts from the city. I have _many_ other valuable pieces, if there's something else you're looking for...?"

That was clearly a lie, though a fairly elaborate one. Adrien tried not to let his skepticism show on his face, though he'd never had much talent for concealing his thoughts.

"I see," he said evenly. "And do you... work with anyone else to distribute these artifacts?"

Lila laughed lightly, concealing her mouth with one hand. "Whyever would I?" she asked. "Whose help could I possibly need?"

This interrogation was clearly going nowhere, and so Adrien decided to end it quickly. "How much are you asking for?" he asked resignedly.

Lila leaned back in her chair, looking quite pleased. "I thought it was vulgar to discuss prices, monsieur," she teased. But then she promptly added, "Four hundred francs."

Adrien silently surrendered the requested amount. Lila arched on eyebrow at him, clearly surprised that he had not attempted to negotiate costs with her, though she did not contest it. She thumbed through the bills, checking that they summed up to the correct amount and, evidently being pleased with the total, passed over a velvet pouch to Adrien.

"Pleasure doing business with you, monsieur," she said. Then, without any more parting words, she abruptly departed the café.

Adrien checked inside the pouch, and saw that the necklace was indeed contained within. He lingered for longer than Lila had, enjoying the last of his tea, before departing as well. After walking for perhaps two blocks, he became aware of someone following him, and he drew off into a quiet nook to wait for Ladybug to join him.

Ladybug looked quite different from normal, having swapped out her usual cloak and mask for a large, wide-brimmed hat, a pair of tinted sunglasses, and a large scarf that covered the entire lower half of her face. Though Adrien recognized her now, he was startled to realize that he had _not_ recognized her in the café, even while staring directly at her.

"Well?" Ladybug asked.

"It's a good look," Adrien said. "I think you ought to do this more often."

"You know that's not what I was talking about," Ladybug scolded. "Did she say anything useful?"

"Not particularly," Adrien admitted, "but I did successfully recover the necklace."

But Ladybug shook her head. "I think not," she said. She seized the pouch from him and lifted the gold and topaz necklace out from it, and held it up near his face. "It's a fake."

Adrien squinted thoughtfully at the necklace. It was made of gold and topaz, as had been described to him, and even looked convincingly like the old Byzantine style. But after a moment's examination, he realized that the chain linking was the wrong pattern, and that the pattern and cut of the gems did not match what the Prince had described.

"Oh," he said mildly. "That does explain a few things." He sighed heavily and shook his head, feeling disappointed in himself for falling for such an obvious trick. "I suppose we've wasted quite a bit of time and money on this fraud."

"Just time, actually," Ladybug said. She fished through one of her pockets and eventually produced a stack of bills. "I pickpocketed her as she was leaving."

Adrien pressed one hand to his mouth, suppressing a laugh. Ladybug glowered at him, as if to scold, but Adrien didn't think she looked too terribly upset. "Bless you, my love," he said fondly.

"Yes, I am quite wonderful," Ladybug said with perfect seriousness. "Unfortunately, this leaves us back where we started, with no leads."

"Well, that's nothing new."

"Indeed, not," Ladybug agreed.

"Shall we go back to my apartment, then?" Adrien asked. "Have a little tête-à-tête to decide where to go from here?"

"Oh my, M. Agreste," Ladybug said playfully. "A _tête-à-tête?_ Are you quite certain that's the only reason you're inviting me home with you?"

Adrien rolled his eyes, and Ladybug laughed delightedly. She went up on tiptoe and pulled her scarf down just enough to press a brief kiss to his chin. "I'd love to, of course," she said, "but that will have to wait until another day. I have to return to Montmartre. My... uncle will be worried if I don't check in soon."

Adrien noticed her hesitation, and smiled slightly. "Your _uncle_ , is he?" Ladybug swatted playfully at his hand, but he easily dodged her. "I'd love to meet him."

"Perhaps you already have," Ladybug teased. But then her smile faded, and she grew serious.

"One day," Adrien said. He gently took one of Ladybug's hands, and pressed a brief kiss to her fingers. "After all this unpleasant business is sorted out, there won't be any need for secrets anymore."

"One day," Ladybug agreed. She leaned in to kiss him again, this time briefly on the lips, and then she slipped away.

The hour was relatively late, but Adrien was not yet feeling tired, so he attempted to immerse himself in his work. He found himself making little progress, however, his thoughts spinning round and round like a wheel stuck in the mud.

At a quarter to ten o'clock, he was shaken out of his thoughts by a ring of the telephone. Surprised to be getting a call at such a late hour, Adrien hesitantly answered.

"Hello?"

"Adrien, it's Alya!" came the voice from the other end. "I have _big_ news about that case with that Turkish prince. Are you listening?"

All at once, Adrien was jolted to attention. He reached with one hand towards his desk, fumbling for a pen and paper. "Yes, I'm listening," he said quickly. "What's the news?"

"Do you remember that necklace, the one that disappeared from the murdered prostitute?" she said. "Well, it's a bit of a long story. But I was investigating that cult and, well, some things happened, you know, creepy masks and underground rituals and so on and so forth, and _maybe_ I accidentally grabbed the wrong bag as I was leaving and, _well_..."

Adrien's stomach lurched as he realized what Alya was implying. " _You_ have it?"

"Yes, indeed," Alya confirmed. "I have the necklace. Right here at the office, at this very moment as we speak."

"Alya, you have to be careful," Adrien said quickly in a low voice. "You can't let anyone else know that you have it."

Alya laughed lightly. "Ah, yes, about that," she said. "I've already told someone. Several someones, actually. In fact, I'm meeting in just a few minutes with a person who might be able to really crack this case wide open."

Adrien closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. "God, Alya," he muttered. "Have you no sense of self-preservation?"

"None whatsoever," Alya confirmed. "But what are you so worked up about, anyway? What's the worst that could happen?"

"You could end up _dead!_ " Adrien exclaimed. "People have been _murdered_ over that artifact."

"Psh, I'm sure I can take care of myself," Alya said dismissively.

Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who are you meeting with?" he asked urgently.

"Just someone," Alya said. "She's very easily spooked, I must say. She insisted on meeting late, with no one else around."

Immediately, Adrien suspected the worst of Alya's mysterious interviewee. "Alya, you have to get out of there right now," he said tensely.

"Be reasonable, Adrien," she said flippantly. "The poor woman's caught up in this dreadful black magic cult! I don't blame her for being cautious."

"I'm serious," Adrien said. "Your life could be in danger—"

"Yes, well, there she is!" Alya interrupted. "I've got to go. Talk to you later, love you, bye!"

"Wait, Alya—"

The line went abruptly dead as Alya hung up on him. Adrien slammed the phone down and leapt up from his desk, fumbling to grab his coat as he tore out of his apartment and ran as fast as he could to Rue Saint-Georges.

Perhaps he was overreacting, and Alya would be fine.

Or perhaps Alya would find herself as yet another corpse in a long string of bodies left behind by the Collector and his insatiable appetite for relics.

Adrien pressed himself to run a little faster. Ordinarily, the walk from Les Halles to the _La Fronde_ office took him twenty minutes, but today he made the trip in half as much time. The front of the office was empty and dark, though the door had been left unlocked. Pénélope had left the office hours ago, and the receptionist's seat was empty. Adrien barreled past, taking the stairs three at a time, and burst into the offices on the second floor.

The room was quiet and dim, illuminated only by a single lamp on Alya's desk. Alya herself was slumped over in her seat, with her head facedown upon her desk. A cup of tea had fallen out of her hands and shattered onto the floor.

He was too late.

His heart lurched painfully in his chest, and Adrien sank down to his knees. It suddenly hurt to breath. The feeling of grief was so acute that he feared he would be smothered by it.

"No," he said hollowly. "Oh, _Alya."_

Upon hearing her name, Alya suddenly lifted her head from her desk. "Oh, it's just you, Adrien!" she said cheerfully. "I was afraid you were that awful woman again."

Adrien's heart lurched again, though much less painfully so this time around. "A-Alya," he choked out. "Dear God. I thought you were dead."

Alya smiled wickedly. "So did she!"

Adrien staggered back up to his feet. "Do you have _any_ idea what kind of fright you gave me?" he stuttered out.

"Sorry, dearie," Alya said. Her face creased sympathetically. "I guess you were right. That woman not only stole my only lead, but she tried to poison me too!" Alya gestured with one hand towards the shattered teacup on the floor. "Unsuccessfully, of course. Her sleight of hand was terrible and, besides that, the poison left behind a very distinct odor."

"Anise," Adrien muttered.

"Exactly!" Alya exclaimed, looking surprised. "It smelled just like the tea of that poisoned Egyptologist."

"But the woman who makes that poison is gone," Adrien said. "She fled to London months ago."

"Well, evidently someone still has some in stock," Alya said. "And... " She trailed off without completing her sentence and glanced over at Adrien, for the first time looking uncomfortable. "Well, you might want to sit down for this."

Adrien did not sit down, but braced himself against the nearest desk. "What is it?"

"That woman," she said slowly, "the one who came here to talk about my story—allegedly, anyway—but was actually trying to kill me? I think I recognized her."

Adrien tensed. There was a pained look in Alya's expression that was making him nervous. "And?" he prompted.

"Well, I don't remember her name," Alya admitted, "but she looked an awful lot like... your father's housekeeper."

The earth seemed to tremble beneath Adrien's feet. " _Nathalie_?" he spluttered. "But she—but _you—"_

Alya grimaced sympathetically, and Adrien found himself at a loss for words. "She wouldn't," Adrien said dumbfoundedly.

"I think she did," Alya said gently. "And there's something else, too. Before she tried to poison me, she was asking some really strange questions. Not just about the necklace, or my investigation, but about _you_."

"About me?"

Alya nodded soberly. "About your habits, and your other friends. She was particularly interested in your relationship with Marie."

Adrien's heart seized in my chest. "How does she know about Marie?"

"I told her," Alya admitted nervously. Upon seeing Adrien's horrified expression, she continued, "I don't understand, Adrien, what's wrong?"

"How do _you_ know about Marie?" Adrien asked. There was a growing tension gnawing at his gut.

"Marie?" Alya was increasingly bewildered. "Marie Cheng, the girl you have a portrait of up on your wall?"

Adrien stood up abruptly. "Marie _Cheng?"_ he exclaimed in shock.

Alya was staring blankly at him. "Yes?" she said hesitantly. "I'm sorry, is something wrong?"

But Adrien was already backing towards the exit, practically stumbling over his feet.

"Her name is Marie," he said, as the realization dawned upon him, "but she prefers to go by Marinette, and I'm the idiot who told the Collector exactly where she lives."


	13. The End of an Era

Adrien was a damned fool, and he knew it.

As he raced towards Mr. Stone's house in Montmartre, his mind kept circling back again and again to the same thoughts, which repeated like a chant.

Marinette Cheng was Marie Dupain, whom his father had asked him to find all those months ago. Nathalie, his father's housekeeper, had attempted to murder Alya and then stolen Rose's necklace from her. The magician Grimault had harbored a particular grudge against him, and clearly Aurore Beauréal had some inkling of his father's connections to the occult black market.

Marinette Cheng was Marie Dupain. His father wanted to track her down not because of some stolen trinkets, but because _he_ was the Collector. And Adrien, like an idiot, had told him _exactly where to find her._

The Collector wanted Ladybug dead.

 _His father_ wanted Ladybug dead.

Adrien could only hope that he wasn't too late.

Upon reaching Mr. Stone's home, Adrien leapt over the short wooden fence surrounding the garden, and crossed over to the front entrance with little regard to where he stepped. Then he all but threw himself at the door, pounding loudly on it several times.

"Ladybug!" he called out. "LADYBUG!"

He banged on the door several more times and, when no one came to answer it, threw it open anyway. It was unlocked, and Adrien rushed into Mr. Stone's home, bursting into the front hall. Mr. Stone, who had in fact been in the stairway near the door, was given quite a start when Adrien burst rudely into his house. He jumped slightly in place, and clutched one hand to his breast.

"Hey!" he snapped. "You can't just—"

"Where is Marinette?" Adrien demanded frantically. With a few short steps, he crossed the room to stand in front of Mr. Stone and seized him by the shoulders. "Where is she?"

Before Mr. Stone had a chance to reply, Marinette herself appeared at the top of the stairs. No doubt she had heard the commotion, for she had come prepared for a fight, gripping a knife tightly in one hand. When she saw Adrien, however, the knife slipped out of her fingers and clattered to the ground.

Adrien's heart lurched in his chest. "Ladybug," he said softly, for now he could clearly see it. Her eyes, her hair, her freckles, the way she pressed her lips together when she was nervous—how had he never seen it before? Three times before, he had met Marinette Cheng, and never once until now had he recognized her as Marie Dupain as well.

Ladybug—or Marinette, rather—regained her composure faster than he did. Her expression morphed from panic to a mask of nonchalance, and she deftly retrieved her fallen knife. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a cool, neutral tone.

Adrien took half a step towards her, but his progress was halted by a hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, there," Mr. Stone said coldly. "I don't care how pretty or rich you are, you can't just break people's houses and start harassing their staff!"

"It's quite alright, Mr. Stone," Marinette said calmly. "He won't hurt me."

Mr. Stone released his grip on Adrien, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and Adrien cautiously stepped forward. Marinette stood in place, until at last they were standing an arm's length apart. Marinette stood tall, but he could see a faint glimmer of worry in her eyes as she lifted her chin up to meet his gaze.

"Ladybug," he said gently. He lifted one hand up to brush against her cheek, and her eyes fluttered closed. She exhaled in relief and leaned in to the touch, and Adrien found himself smiling tenderly.

"What are you doing here?" she asked again, softer this time.

Adrien felt an uncomfortable jolt in his gut, as he was suddenly reminded of his task. "Ladybug, I know who the Collector is," he said, "and he knows where to find you. You have to get out of here."

Marinette flinched visibly, but she did not panic. Very calmly, she said, "Mr. Stone, what do you think of taking a holiday in the French countryside? Or perhaps Italy? I hear that Tuscany is lovely this time of year."

Mr. Stone furrowed his brow, glancing between Marinette and Adrien with clear confusion. But then, with a shrug, he said, "That actually sounds quite delightful. Are you and your paramour coming along too?"

"No, Mr. Stone," Marinette said. She smiled at him fondly. "I think we have business here in the city still. Would you allow us a moment?"

Mr. Stone departed from the entrance hall then, murmuring something about packing a bag, and again Marinette turned to face Adrien.

"Who is he?" she asked without preamble.

"You may want to sit down for this," Adrien said nervously.

"I'm fine," Marinette said firmly.

"Are you sure?" Adrien asked. "It might come as a bit of a shock—"

"Tell me already!" Marinette interrupted impatiently.

Adrien took a deep breath to steel his nerves and finally said, "He's my father."

"Your—your _father?"_ Marinette asked.

Adrien nodded once, and Marinette's eyes grew very wide. She took a lurching step backward and reached out to the wall for support. " _Your father?_ " she demanded again. "Are you certain?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Adrien said. He shifted awkwardly in place. "Are you all right?"

"Are _you?"_ Marinette asked. Before Adrien had time to respond, she continued on, "Dear God—what are we going to do now?"

"Well, first thing, we need to get you and Mr. Stone safely out of here," Adrien said. He ran one hand nervously through his hair. "After that... well, I don't know yet."

"Fair enough," Marinette said.

By then, Mr. Stone had returned to the hall. He carried two suitcases with him and had changed into traveling clothes, or rather, what Adrien expected were intended to be traveling clothes. He was wearing a tweed suit dyed a garish purple hue, and the same ridiculous orchid hat that he had worn on the day Adrien first met him. The two suitcases were very large, and Adrien was surprised that he had been able to pack so fast.

"You know, Marinette, I think you're right," Mr. Stone said. He grinned and both Adrien and Marinette. "Tuscany sounds marvelous! Maybe I'll ask Penny if she'll come with me."

"That sounds delightful, Mr. Stone," Marinette said. She walked over to him and went up to her tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Just be sure that you don't come back to Paris until I let you know it's safe to return."

"Are you certain you don't want to come along?" Mr. Stone asked. "I'd be happy to have you. Both of you," he said, looking in Adrien's direction.

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Stone," Marinette said sweetly, "but I'm not leaving this city until I've dealt with that son of a bitch."

Though her voice was perfectly calm, there was an angry flash in Marinette's eyes that honestly sent chills down Adrien's spine. Mr. Stone must have seen it too, but instead of being frightened, he laughed.

"That's my girl!" he said approvingly. "Well, I suppose I have a train to catch. Farewell, Marinette, Adrien."

As Mr. Stone departed his residence, Marinette turned to Adrien.

"Is your home safe?" she asked.

Adrien found himself taken aback. "You don't think my own father would hurt me, do you?" he asked.

Marinette's expression was a mask of neutrality. Adrien could tell that she did indeed think it was a possibility, but all she said aloud was, "If you think we will be safe there, then I trust your judgment."

Adrien grimaced as he mulled over his options. After a lengthy pause, he finally said, "I know somewhere else we can go."

Adrien wasn't the kind of person who often spent time at the Hôtel Bourgeois, but he figured it would be best if he went someplace his father wouldn't necessarily suspect—and, besides that, André owed him a favor. He booked a small room on the third floor, deeply discounted but still ludicrously expensive, and Marinette wasted no time in setting up once they arrived.

"So," she began conversationally, "your father is a bit of a monster, apparently."

She was carefully rigging the windows with tripwire, so that a bell would ring if any one of them was opened. Adrien watched closely and said, "That's putting it mildly."

"Indeed," Marinette agreed. "So, what are we going to do about it?"

Having finished her business with the windows, she went over to rig a similar alarm on the doors. "I don't know," Adrien admitted. "I find myself at a complete loss."

"That's quite all right," Marinette said briskly. She paused a moment as she contemplated her door-rig, and adjusted one of the bells ever so slightly. "I was just asking to be polite. I already have a plan."

Despite himself, Adrien laughed. "Naturally," he said fondly. "So, what is it?"

"You're going to distract your father," Marinette said. She began walking around the perimeter of the room, pressing her fingers gently against the walls, as though she were checking for secret tunnels or trap doors. "Then I'll sneak in upstairs, and steal all of his things."

"Do you think that's wise?"

"Absolutely not," Marinette admitted, though this did not seem to perturb her.

"And what do we do after that?" Adrien asked. "It's not as if he's just going to disappear, and doubt we could convince the authorities to arrest him—not without much clearer evidence than we currently have."

"That's true enough," Marinette agreed. "And I doubt we'd find evidence enough to tie him to any of the murders that he's had a hand in. He's very meticulous in that way."

She turned away from the walls, apparently satisfied with them, and came to sat down next to Adrien. "I think, however, that we could manage to plant a few trinkets that would frame him for something else."

"That sounds terribly unethical," Adrien said uncertainly.

"Less unethical than letting a murderer walk free," Marinette pointed out archly.

"Fair enough," Adrien admitted. "What did you have in mind?"

As the night wore on, Marinette and Adrien carefully laid out every detail of their plan, filling out pages and pages of notes and attempting to account for every possible contingency. Eventually, when the hour was well past midnight, it became clear that they had done as much as they could, and there was nothing left to plan for.

"It's late," Adrien said. "You should get some sleep."

"So should you," Marinette said dryly. "But you're not tired, are you?"

"No," Adrien admitted. He was still pacing around the room, full of nervous energy. "My thoughts are too uneasy."

"I'm sorry," Marinette said gently. She turned slightly away from Adrien, and there was a slightly guilty look on her face, as though she felt somehow responsible for Adrien's conundrum. "This must be hard for you, trying to reconcile everything you now know about him."

Adrien shook his head slowly. There was a faint taste of bile in his mouth. "No," he said gravely. "That's the problem. It's too easy. The longer I think on it the clearer it becomes."

"What do you mean?"

"I've always known what sort of man my father is," Adrien said. He gestured half-heartedly with one hand. "Self-interested, arrogant, indifferent. Cruel, even. But I let my own affection for him cloud my vision."

Marinette rose and slowly walked over to him. She pressed one hand gently to his shoulder, her face twisted into a sympathetic frown. "He's your _father_ ," she said. "Of course you believed the best in him."

"He's a murderer and a thief," Adrien said. Before Marinette could speak, he quickly added, "I know it's not my fault, of course, but I can't help but wonder whether I might've... I don't know, been able to _do_ something if I had realized sooner."

"You can't dwell on thoughts like that," Marinette said. "You'll only drive yourself mad. The important part is what you do _now_."

"We're going to stop him," said Adrien. "We're going to get your earrings back, and he's going to pay for what he did to your family."

Adrien saw a flicker of something in Marinette's face, though he could not quite name the expression. "He's going to pay for what he did to _you_ ," Adrien said. His voice was shaking now, and his hands were too.

"Thank you," Marinette said quietly.

It was nice to be able to finally look at her without the mask. Wordlessly, Adrien reached forward to cup her cheek with one hand, then pressed his forehead to hers.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "for everything you had to go through."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Marinette said. She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "Now come on. We really do need to get some sleep."

Adrien skipped Sunday Mass the next morning. Instead, he and Marinette lounged around in their nightclothes, going over their plan again and again, until Adrien thought that it might be branded into his brain. He ordered them both a pot of tea, and they sipped nervously from their cups as the hour approached noon.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked Marinette one final time.

"As sure as anything," she said. She drank the last of her tea in one large gulp, then set the cup aside. She dressed herself in her usual attire, paying no mind whatsoever to Adrien's presence, except to occasionally ask his assistance in lacing up her garments. When she was fully dressed at last, she smiled playfully at Adrien before finally donning her mask.

"I can't believe I never recognized you," said Adrien.

"I can hardly believe it myself," Marinette—or Ladybug—said frankly. "Every time I ran into you outside the mask, I was petrified. I was so sure you would know it was me!"

"Fortunately, it seems that I'm really a rather terrible detective," Adrien said.

"Don't be silly," Ladybug said fondly. She went up onto her tiptoes and pressed a kissed to his chin. "Clearly the true explanation is simply that I am a master of disguise."

"Yes, that must be it," Adrien agreed pleasantly.

Ladybug backed away from him slowly, and headed for the window, but Adrien stopped her with a hand on her wrist before she could leave. She turned to him, looking puzzled, but didn't complain when Adrien tugged her close again.

"Be careful," he told her seriously.

Ladybug smiled softly up at him. "I always am," she said.

She kissed him again, this time briefly on the lips, before finally climbing out the hotel window. "See you soon," she called back. She blew him a quick kiss before dropping down and out of his view.

Adrien waited until the count of ten before leaving himself. He left through the front door, like any normal person would, and smiled to himself about Ladybug's odd habits.

He made the walk to his father's home in Faubourg Saint-Germain much more slowly than usual. He took his time, trying to get all his thoughts in order, and paying extra attention to the scenery around him. He tried to focus on mundane things—the color of the pavement, the clouds in the sky, the lifeless hôtel particuliers lining the street—to calm his mind.

Nathalie, as usual, greeted him at the door. She had never been a very warm person, but she had always been kind to Adrien in her own way. Her face was expressionless, as it typically was, but there was a certain softness in her voice that betrayed her fondness for him.

"It's nice to see you, Nathalie," Adrien said. And it was true; she may have been part of a terrible conspiracy and tried to murder his best friend, but he loved her nonetheless.

It was difficult to look at her and maintain his composure, however, so he quickly brushed past her without any further words.

Adrien met with his father in the dining room. The elder M. Agreste was seated already, paging casually through a copy of _Le Fig_ _aro,_ with his cane resting against the table. He greeted Adrien cordially, and Adrien greeted him in return. The utter normalcy of it all was so unnerving that, for a brief moment, Adrien wondered whether he had been wrong about his father after all.

"I did not see you at Mass this morning," his father finally said, after the silence had stretched on far too long.

"I overslept," Adrien lied.

"This has become a worrying habit, Adrien," his father said calmly. "I worry about the health of your immortal soul."

"My soul in plenty good health, thank you," Adrien said sharply. "You should save your concern for yourself."

He hadn't meant to be so insubordinate, but the words had come to him all to easily. His father looked at him sternly, but said nothing by way of response. Instead, the elder M. Agreste said, "I see that Mlle Cheng will not be joining us this afternoon."

"She won't be," Adrien said curtly. "She's been very busy lately, as I'm sure you understand."

"Indeed," his father agreed pleasantly. He turned to the next page of his newspaper and, after a pause, asked, "And how goes your investigation into Marie Dupain?"

His father glanced up briefly to look Adrien in the eye. Though the words had been spoken quite calmly, they sent a chill down Adrien's spine.

His father knew perfectly well that Marie Dupain and Marinette Cheng were the same person—and he knew that Adrien knew as well.

"I won't let you hurt her," Adrien said seriously, abruptly dropping all pretense.

His father laughed aloud. "Heavens, Adrien," he said. "How exactly do you propose to stop me?"

Adrien grit his teeth together and glared silently. His father, after a moment's hesitation, sighed deeply and set his newspaper aside, folding it neatly back into a square. "You're being ridiculous," he said in a cool, patronizing tone. "I haven't even done anything wrong."

Adrien stared blankly at his father as a cold disbelief sweeping over him. "You've stolen treasured belongings from their rightful owners," he said, his voice shaking, "and you've murdered innocent people in cold blood in order to obtain them."

"Rightful owners?" his father scoffed. "Those people had no idea of the true value of those artifacts. It's a terrible waste. Treasures like that deserve to be in the hands of people who can properly appreciate them."

"And all those people you killed?"

"They were foreigners, and heathens, and miscegenators," his father said sternly. "You can't honestly tell me you care about them, Adrien."

"Of course I care!" Adrien snapped. "How can you not?"

His father watched Adrien very carefully, eyes narrowing. "It seems that Marie has very thoroughly wormed her way into your heart," he said.

"Not just her," said Adrien severely. "My friends Alya and Nino, too. And Mlle Kubdel, and Frl. Kurtzberg, and little Manon Chamack. They're all good, kind people, and none of them deserved the horrors you wrought."

"I see," his father said disdainfully. He was still perfectly casual, as though they were discussing something as mundane as a sports event. "But you still haven't answered my question yet: what exactly are you going to do about it?"

Adrien had no answer to that. "Are you really prepared to fight me over this?" his father went on. He must have seen a flicker of doubt in Adrien's expression, because he continued, "You are _my_ son, Adrien. In the end, no matter what happens, I know that you will side with me."

At that, Adrien shook his head slowly. "I will _never_ side with you," he said bitterly.

They stared one another down in tense silence before the quiet was abruptly shattered by the sound of a gunshot. Adrien was on his feet in an instant.

"What was that?" he demanded. His father only smirked.

Adrien felt a jolt of panic in his heart, and he rushed out of the room, intending to dash upstairs to Ladybug's aid. He needn't have bothered. The very moment he reached the doorway, Ladybug appeared on the other side, running at a sprint.

She crashed into him and Adrien tried to steady her, but they both ended up knocked to the ground.

"Hello, darling," Ladybug gasped out. "I've run into a bit of a snag, as it turns out."

Ladybug scrambled to get back up on her feet, glancing nervously over her shoulder. By the time Adrien was standing again, he could see what was worrying her.

Nathalie, looking uncharacteristically disheveled and panting for breath, came running down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom and lifted a small firearm that she pointed in Ladybug's direction.

"Oh, no you don't," said Adrien. He stepped forward and, in a sudden panic, Nathalie jerked the gun upwards just moments before firing her second shot. The bullet whizzed just past Adrien's ear and Nathalie staggered backwards in mute horror.

Adrien strode forward and disarmed her easily—Nathalie was largely inexperienced in combat and, besides that, hadn't been expecting Adrien to confront her. She looked at him with puzzlement and betrayal in her eyes and, despite himself, Adrien felt a twinge of guilt.

Meanwhile, his father had emerged from the dining room behind them. He lifted his cane and twisted the top of it, revealing a hidden sword within it, and moved to attack Ladybug. Ladybug cursed loudly and dodged underneath the swing of his blade. She fumbled to draw her own hidden knife out from her sleeve, but such a small blade was little good against a full sword. She managed to block a second swing, but the knife was knocked violently out of her hand, and Ladybug quickly scrambled backward until she found herself cornered.

With shaking hands, Adrien lifted the handgun that he had taken from Nathalie, and pointed it directly at his father.

" _Stop_ ," he said.

His father paused in place. He turned very slowly to face Adrien, lowering his arm slightly, and narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't," he said coolly.

"Step away from her," Adrien commanded.

"Or what?" his father asked snidely. "You'll kill me?"

He stared pointedly at Adrien, as if daring him to pull the trigger. Adrien inhaled deeply and tried to steady his hands.

"Do it, then," his father said. "Shoot me."

His father waited patiently as Adrien took several more deep breaths, and the silence stretched between them. Behind him, he could hear Nathalie backing away slowly. The sounds of her footsteps on the tile were the loudest noises in the room. Directly in front of him, Ladybug watched with bated breath, not daring to move as Adrien stared down his father.

Eventually, his father smiled coldly.

"I knew you couldn't," he said. With an air of self-satisfaction, he turned back towards Ladybug.

Adrien pulled the trigger.

It was a terrible shot. Adrien's hands were trembling so badly that it affected his aim, and the bullet flew harmlessly past his father and then ricocheted off the nearby mantelpiece, flying backwards to strike the chandelier above. There was a terrible crash and a cascade of falling glass as the chandelier swung wildly overhead.

His father, shocked momentarily by Adrien's action, was distracted long enough for Ladybug to kick his legs out from under him. She reached for his cane-sword, but she was unable to wrest it out of his grip. At the last moment, she dove instead for his discarded sheath.

She looked thoughtfully at it, then at Adrien's father, then at the chandelier swinging wildly overhead.

"Adrien!" she called out sharply. "Get out of the way."

Adrien had no idea what she meant, but he backed away nonetheless. Ladybug set her mouth into a firm line and, with one arm, she hurled the sheath at the chandelier above.

The chandelier, which had already been damaged by the ricocheting bullet, was thrown completely off balance when the sheath struck it. It creaked in a horrible sort of way, still swinging wildly back and forth until finally, with one last groan, its chain snapped all the way through. It continued swinging but, no longer attached ceiling, it now flew to the ground in a smooth arc.

Adrien watched breathlessly as the chandelier landed directly on top of his father with a furious crash.

Ladybug, standing dangerously close to the crash, flinched and threw up one arm to protect her face. The shattering chandelier threw up shards of glass that pelted her, but she was spared from the same fate that his father had met.

It was a stroke of good luck for a woman who had been plagued by misfortune for far too long.

After the loud crash of the chandelier, the silence that followed seemed unnatural.

"Marinette?" Adrien called out hesitantly.

"I'm all right," she said. Very slowly, she clambered back up to her feet, and Adrien rushed over to be at her side. "But your father..."

Adrien glanced only briefly at his father's mangled body. He felt a brief pang of sorrow—he _had_ loved his father, despite everything—but an overwhelming sense of relief far outweighed any grief he might have felt at that moment.

"What do we do now?" Ladybug asked.

Adrien dispassionately surveyed the scene before him.

"I think," he said slowly, "it might be time we called the real police."

* * *

Several weeks later, when things had finally begun to quiet down, Adrien met with Alya at the Place des Vosges. She was sitting on a park bench, half-heartedly feeding the pigeons and gazing upon the nearby equestrian statute of Louis XIII in a bored way. Adrien joined her silently, and she smiled kindly at him.

"Well, the investigation seems to be winding down," she told him. She reached into her bag and produced another handful of bread for the pigeons. "There are no leads on the mysterious Ladybug, and Nino says that the police are ready to give up on the case of your father's death."

"And Nathalie?" Adrien asked quietly.

Alya's expression grew even more grim. "She still won't say anything," she muttered. "She seems intent on rotting silently in prison. We may never know the full truth of what happened."

Alya fell into silence for a moment, and the park was filled with only the sounds of pigeons and wind blowing through trees. "Have you been to see her?" she asked quietly.

"Not yet," Adrien said. "Soon."

Alya shook her head slowly. "Regardless of what may or may not have happened," she said, "it's clear that Nathalie does care for you." She tossed out another handful of crumbs. "It's such a shame she turned out to be a murderess."

"A would-be murderess," Adrien corrected. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, you are still alive and well."

"Alive, certainly," Alya acknowledged with a twinkling smile. " _Well_ might be putting it a bit too strongly."

They conversed for another quarter of an hour, wandering away from such unpleasant topics as Nathalie and his father, before finally parting ways. Alya returned to her office and Adrien, with a heavy sort of feeling in his heart, returned to his home in Les Halles.

Marinette was already waiting for him there. She had let herself in through the window, as she often did, and had seated herself at his desk. When Adrien entered, she smiled at him, but did not rise from his chair.

"What did Alya have to say?" she asked.

"Nothing much," Adrien said. He shrugged off his coat and hung it up on the rack. "She's endlessly intrigued by Ladybug's latest crime, but your secret remains safe."

Marinette closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. "Wonderful," she said. "In that case, God willing, this is the last anyone will hear of Ladybug."

"And what of Marinette Dupain?" Adrien asked. "What will you do now?"

Marinette drummed her fingers nervously against his desk. "I don't know," she admitted. "I could go back to Mr. Stone, I suppose. He's been like a second father to me, and I've always wanted to visit Italy. Or I could go track down Mme Bustier in the Alps, and return to flower making."

She hesitated then, and Adrien took a breath to steady his nerves.

"You could stay in Paris," he offered tremulously, "with me."

Marinette did not look surprised by the offer, exactly. But she was quiet and pensive for a moment, and so Adrien hurriedly added, "I mean, it's your life. You deserve to do whatever you want with it. You more than deserve it, after everything you've been through. But you're a fabulous detective, and I..."

Adrien trailed off without finishing his thought. Marinette was still watching him silently, so Adrien swallowed nervously and continued. "Alya referred a case to me," he said quickly. "A sentient automaton that's apparently terrorizing people in the Latin Quarter."

Marinette muffled a laugh with one hand. "A sentient _automaton?_ "

"It's crazy, I know," Adrien said. He found that he was laughing too. "But I've seen stranger things."

"Surely it's just a hoax," Marinette said.

"Almost certainly," Adrien agreed. "But you never know."

Marinette stilled, quiet in her contemplation, and Adrien found himself fidgeting where he stood. "So," he said nervously, "if you'd have it... then perhaps we could investigate together?"

Slowly, Marinette's lips turned up in a crooked smile. "I'd like that," she said softly. "I'd like that a lot."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! ‹3**


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